


Haunted

by dontbearichard



Series: Haunted [1]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Betrayal, Character Development, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26256208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontbearichard/pseuds/dontbearichard
Summary: “Work with me, instead. If we put our trust in each other, we can find whoever’s been murdering citizens. I’m proposing an alliance, McCullum. Let us put our differences aside for once.” McCullum lets out an exasperated sigh before chewing his lower lip for a moment. Jonathan holds out a hand just as he did when he spared him after defeating him. A handshake - a show of faith.“If you give me any reasons… I’ll flay you alive,” he promises, missing the usual vigour and hatred in his voice. He has no choice to collaborate with Jonathan, much to his chagrin.“I won’t give you any reasons.”Upon returning to London after five years, Jonathan Reid is surprised to find how much has changed, including a series of grisly murders he intends to solve. He seeks aid in the unlikeliest of places and finds the aid of the dangerous and violent McCullum.
Relationships: Elisabeth Ashbury/Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Series: Haunted [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907539
Comments: 16
Kudos: 85





	1. The End Of A Five Year Absence

**Haunted**

_October, 1923_

Although it’s only been years since Jonathan was last in London, he feels as if he’s been gone for eons. As their car travels into the city, he can’t help but notice how the city’s changed. Without the occupancy of local gangs and the sick and ill strewn about, the roads are bare. The city is quiet, save for the shouts that echo off of buildings and the distant and sweet music that remind Reid of life before wartime and epidemics. It reminds him of a time where he was a mortal and foolish man who often spent his evenings in pubs, speaking with Clarence without ever considering his life would change. Curiously, he glances at Elisabeth and wonders if she was as he was: a naive girl who filled her life with the simplest pleasures that only mortals dared enjoy.

“It’s a shame I didn’t see London recover from the epidemic,” he thinks aloud, his eyes flitting over Elisabeth’s features which soften even as her focus remains on the road. “It would’ve been nice to see mankind recover, return to normalcy…”

“I know, my dear,” she murmurs, her pale eyes glancing at him, “but, you’ll witness such things in the years to come. It’s a sight to see: countries and nations rebuilding and healing after wars and disease. Humankind has always remained resilient…”

“Like a phoenix rising from ashes,” Jonathan says. He does not know if London will ever be as it was before he left for war, but he assumes that it will progress and evolve. The car slows as it nears Elisabeth’s mansion, sputtering until the engine dies. Elisabeth remains still, her eyes staring forward before her body slumps and she heaves a sigh. “Elisabeth?”

Her head tilts upwards and she catches his gaze. Though her eyes are dry and without tears, her sadness is unmistakable. “I only hope Charlotte can forgive me.” During the five years they have travelled, Elisabeth resisted the temptation of sending her daughter any letters.

“I’m sure she’ll understand. You will have a very long time to reconcile,” he murmurs before his hand slips over her forearm.

She softens under her touch before she slowly nods. “It never does get easier,” she whispers, “I’ve lost sons and daughters, and I’ve watched them all grow old.” He wishes there were words to comfort her, but, he’s only a newborn, after all. He’s suffered the loss of Mary, but he wonders what it would’ve been like if he had watched her grow old. Would she have turned into a hateful and bitter woman, hardened with age? Of course, that would have never happened… She leaves the vehicle before walking through the gate, her gait slow with hesitance until she stands right before her door. Jonathan follows her, but gives her distance as she raises her hand to knock the door. Once she does it, she glances over at him with an anxious expression that falters as the door swings open, casting a beam of light onto their faces.

“Mother.” They turn their heads to look at Charlotte who stands in her housecoat, her eyes wide and her jaw slack until she eventually presses her lips into a weak smile. “Oh, I have missed you…”

“Charlotte, my love,” Elisabeth begins, stumbling over her words, “I know I have been absent. But, there are things I cannot explain, even if I wanted to…” It is unlike Elisabeth to struggle to explain herself, and initially, he suspects that their time together might have softened her. But, there is a genuine sadness in her voice, one that does not match the semi-smile on her face.

“I think the two of you should come in.’ In the parlour, Elisabeth and Jonathan sit, waiting for Charlotte whose presence can be heard from behind the kitchen door. Cupboards creak open and the kettle whistles, piercing the silence between Jonathan and Elisabeth.

“Do you struggle to keep the truth from her?” He isn’t sure if he’d be so inclined to lying to his daughter if it meant jeopardizing their relationship; Then again, he’s not lived the many half-lives Elisabeth has lived. She is probably accustomed to fabricating lies in order to protect her loved ones from the truth of her blood.

“No, it’s something that I’ve done so many times,” she replies as she gets up and nears the roaring fireplace. Her back remains turned even as she continues to speak, “I’d rather have her hate me for being an absent mother. I can’t imagine she’d ever accept the truth of my past.”

“Won’t she be suspicious about our visit? What possible reason could we have for randomly reappearing in her life?” Glancing over her shoulders, she shoots him a particularly worried look before it falters. They really had no reason to return to London, but, their quest led them to the conclusion that Dr. Swansea might have made progress over the last few years. But, it was sentimentality that led Elisabeth to her daughter’s doorstep.

“I’ll think of a response.” The kitchen door swings open as Charlotte pushes her body against it, her arms burdened with a tray of tea; Of course, she brings three cups which elicits a smile from her mother’s face. “That smells heavenly, my dear,” she says before rushing to her daughter’s aid. Reid knows that it isn’t the tea that brings a smile to his lover’s face, but the fact that her daughter remembered such things about her mother. “So… what has changed since my absence?”

“Well, I’m betrothed to a Lord,” Charlotte says nonchalantly as she pours the steeped tea into the cups. “He’s a powerful Ekon. He promised to grant me immortality,” she adds, looking up to gauge the reaction of Ashbury’s face. She’s completely aghast, staring blankly at her daughter as she struggles to find the words to respond to such a confession. But, Charlotte breaks out into an impish smile before laughing, “oh, did you see that, Dr. Reid? She believes me.”

“You may be a young woman, Charlotte, but, you act like a child, sometimes,” Elisabeth returns, shaking her head before bringing a cup just below her nostrils. She inhales deeply while hiding a smile behind the rim of her cup.

“Things have been, more or less, the same. But, the Suffragette movement is gaining leverage and people are starting to actually listen. I feel as though London is getting more progressive.” Then, her smile slowly disappears just as she catches Reid’s eye. “There have been murders in East London. That’s what I assumed you were here for.”

“Murders? I think I may know who may be responsible.” It wouldn’t surprise him if the deaths were the products of Seymour Fishburn’s unchecked anger. But, he didn’t know how the thought made him feel… A tight ball of anxiety clenched his abdomen as he thought about the many lost lives that could’ve been stopped if he had done the right thing.

“What? Who?”

“Seymour Fishburn… I had spoken to the man and had confronted him after finding a body in the sewers.”

“Really? I didn’t think he was a cannibal.”

“Cannibal? Is that how the bodies are being found… half-eaten and gnawed?” It makes him think that it is the work of skals, nothing new and nothing unusual.

“No,” Charlotte corrects, “there’s incisions and removed organs. I think it would be definitely worth investigating, Doctor Reid.” Elisabeth shrugs although Jonathan can tell that the mere idea of being trapped in London makes her anxious. Eventually, she’d have to explain herself to her daughter and reveal the reasons for her absence. Her eyes dart from Reid to Charlotte in anticipation of what he’ll say. As much as he cares deeply for her, he can’t help but feel a certain obligation that he needs to put an end to these murders.

“I don’t know, Charlotte… We have plans to travel, we only intend to stay for a week.”

“Yes, we’ve been kept quite busy with Jonathan’s… research.” Elisabeth sets her tea down before shifting her body so she fully faces her daughter. He doubts that she’ll ever speak the truth, not until her daughter is grasping her never-aging mother’s hand on her death bed. “But…,” she adds, glancing over her shoulder at Jonathan, “I suppose it wouldn’t be harmful to investigate. Perhaps Dr. Swansea knows something about our... problem. We’ll stay for two weeks, then, instead of the one.”

“You will…?” Her daughter barely contains her excitement over having her mother stay with them. Compared to their five-year hiatus, two weeks does not seem like enough time to make up for their absence. But, it’s enough to cause Charlotte to stand up from the Chesterfield and speak of sleeping arrangements and a possible play she and her mother could attend. While she pulls her mother up the stairs, speaking about how much she’s missed her, Jonathan quietly slips out of the mansion in search of answers.

* * *

As he walks towards Pembroke, he feels an overwhelming sense of nostalgia wash over him. It nearly looks the same with its tall brick exterior with wide intricately-paned windows from which inviting and warm light penetrate through the rolling London fog. A familiar sight, indeed; Save for the fact that there are no longer gurneys strewn all over streets containing dead patients. It is the Pembroke he fell in love with, the one that convinced him to write a letter, asking to intern for the hospital. As relieved as he is to see it restored to its formal state, he wonders how Dr. Swansea is faring. He recalls their last conversation in which he revealed how eager he was to live life as an Immortal. But, eager is too kind a word, Reid thought him to be overzealous in a way that seemed almost dangerous. He only hopes that his experiments did not involve any patients or anybody other than himself.

As he ascends the stairway, he feels the strong gaze of the nurses and Doctors, wondering where he had gone off to. He was in such a hurry to find Elisabeth that he hadn’t bothered writing a letter or addressing the staff as he left; He regrets it, especially when Dr. Akroyd flares his nostrils with thinly-veiled hate before returning to his duties. He wonders if Strickland still admires his work or views him as a hack who only stirred up trouble during the most difficult period of the epidemic.

He reaches Swansea’s office and raps his knuckles against the door only to be greeted with a pale face. Although it’s only been five years, Swansea’s appearance has taken a turn for the worse. The sclera of his eyes are completely bloodshot while traces of broken blood vessels run rampart on his face. But, he stares at Reid with absolute reverence as he lets him in, “Jonathan! How I’ve missed you. It’s been, what, five years?”

Reid emits a chuckle that sounds much coyer and sheepish than he expected, but the situation leaves him uncomfortable. “Yes, five years… That’s how long it’s been,” he confirms, wringing his hands as he wanders over to the Doctor’s desk. The room is surprisingly unkempt, almost unhygienically so. The carpet looks brown as it gathers the soil and dust from shoes and there are papers and books carelessly littered about the room. It’s so messy that Reid nearly considers it an unusual aesthetic choice until he asks Swansea. “I’m surprised, I thought you were one for cleanliness.”

“Oh, Jonathan,” he sighs, still smiling as he falls into his desk chair. “We immortals… We’re above those things.”

“Not me,” he retorts, swiping the desk with his finger. The tip is smeared with dust which he gawks at before wiping his hand against his jacket. “How has Pembroke been?”

“Well, we could actually be considered a hospital now,” he replies, chortling before reaching for the skull on his desk. He mindlessly rotates between hands, half-smiling.

“What do you mean by that?”

“The epidemic reduced Pembroke to a mass grave.”

“You were partially responsible for that,” Jonathan replies, shaking his head as he stares down at the dirt-ridden carpet. He doesn’t want to catch his gaze, especially when his eyes are bloodshot and horridly distracting. He hopes that Swansea does not deem the act weak or a show of weakness. “I hope you feel some sort of remorse after all these years.”

Edgar scoffs softly in response, prompting Jonathan to look upwards. “Did you not cure it, Jonathan? We saved England, it doesn’t matter whether we caused the flames as we have extinguished them.” There’s a certain pride in his voice that makes Reid wonder how he could’ve so foolishly turned the very naive Swansea.

“But, what of the lives lost in the process? We are responsible for them, regardless of what you might think.”

Edgar simply furrows his brow and swivels his body in his chair before looking out the window. “Why are you here, Jonathan?” After shaking off his disbelief, he reveals the nature of his visit.

“Lady Ashbury and I have returned to London. We… Well, the reasons for our visit does require discretion, but, we’re trying to find a more permanent antidote for the sort of blood condition that drove Harriet Jones to become what she did.”

“Lady Ashbury’s blood caused the epidemic?” He can tell that the cogs and wheels are turning behind Edgar’s mind. It’s easier for him to blame anybody but himself, but Jonathan chooses not to take his bait. There’s a part of him that loathes himself for not defending her honour, but the acquisition of Swansea’s help keeps him from saying anything. “The both of you… want my help?”

“Yes, we desperately need it. Please, Edgar,” he pleads.

“Fine, alright. Send Lady Ashbury to speak with me tomorrow,” he accepts, waving a dismissive hand before focusing on the open book for him. Judging by his complete silence, Reid decides to take his leave. He heads towards the door before Edgar speaks. “Jonathan, would you get rid of McCullum?”

“What?”

“He’s loitering outside the hospital and he keeps asking my hardworking staff to deliver me messages.” Reid suppresses a smile at the thought of the surly McCullum standing by the gates, cigarette in hand as he pleads for the nurses to send messages. He can’t imagine him doing such a juvenile thing.

“Why doesn’t he speak to you in your office?”

“I’m Ekon. Last time he was here, he threatened to drive a stake through my heart. I’m never certain whether his threats are genuine, but, I’m not taking any chances.” His eyes narrow as he wanders closer to the window as he looks down. “Since the epidemic’s ended, they’ve had a harder time organizing. People are not so keen as to let militia knock their doors and harass them.”

“That’s a relief,” Jonathan mumbles, relieved that he won’t have to skulk through the streets of London. Killing members of the Guard of Priwen had become a nuisance and tiresome; He’s glad that his killing days are over, for the most part. “But, I suppose he’ll be pretty eager to strive a stake through _my_ heart.”

“I don’t think so. He’s more occupied by the recent murders; He suspects that it’s the work of a vampire.” He is curious about McCullum’s motivations towards solving the murders, but, he supposes that it will not harm him… as long as he avoids him. “Goodbye, Reid. Be careful.”

He shuts the door behind him as he leaves Swansea’s office before descending the stairs and heading for an alternative exit. He isn’t foolish enough to walk voluntarily into McCullum whose threats he recalls quite vividly. Once outside, he checks his pocket watch; He has five hours left until sunrise, which means five hours to investigate the body in the morgue. As he crossing across the small clearing, he feels a sudden force drive against his body until his back cries out in pain as he’s shoved against the hospital’s brick wall. Jonathan is met with a pair of rage-filled eyes. McCullum forces his forearm against his windpipe while the cold barrel of a gun prods Reid’s belly. “What are you doing back here, leech?” When he talks, his voice trembles with an anger that manages to concern Reid. “I thought you left. It would’ve worked out better that way…” The hold on his gun tightens while his eyes flit across Jonathan’s stoic face.

“You aren’t going to kill me, hunter,” he sneers, smiling back at McCullum. “Without the aid of your precious Guard of Priwen and ultra-violet light, you are as good as dead.” He moves swiftly and shoves his arm away just as McCullum pulls the trigger. It fires off into the night - a hollow and deafening sound - before Reid pulls out his own revolver and points it right at McCullum.

“I can’t believe you’re speaking with that Swansea. He was depraved before, but now he’s one of you bloodsuckers,” he spits, his gun slowly lowering. Reid mimics the action, trusting him to disarm himself. While he may recover from a bullet, Geoffrey definitely cannot.

“I know… He’s changed for the worse. But, I need his help. That is precisely why I’m back in London.” McCullum craggy features contort with distrust and disgust. Reid knows that as much as he disapproves of his association with Swansea, he is no better when he asks for information about the murders. “I heard that you threatened him, but you’re now asking for his help with these murders.”

“So, you know about them?” His rigid posture changes along with his temperament. “Did he tell you about them?”

“No, somebody informed me. I intend to solve them.”

“As do I. Though I doubt your motivations are anything but sordid.” His hand slips into his overcoat, doing away with his gun. If it was anybody other than Reid, he wouldn’t have easily disarmed himself.

“So, McCullum, you’re the great hero that’s going to save London? Well, I hope I don’t get in your way, then.” He moves past him towards the morgue. He tries the door only to find himself unsuccessfully opening it. “Locked, of course,” he mumbles before looking around. He spots a high scaffold hanging from the rooftop; He might just be able to land onto it and access the morgue via window.

“Wait, Reid,” McCullum pleads, gritting his teeth before he asks, “would you let me into the morgue? I’ll let you do your own investigation and you’ll let me do mine.” His back remains turned as he listens to the vampire hunter struggle to ask for a favour. It’s deliciously ironic.

“Why should I trust the man who’s just attempted to kill me?” “What if I gave you something that helped you with your investigation? A list of names - known vampires. Something like that could be valuable, leech.” Reid holds back a laugh as he turns around to look at McCullum. Although he’s well-built and armed, he seems almost pathetic asking for help. He didn’t think he’d ever have the vampire hunter providing his resources just for access to the morgue.

“Work with me, instead. If we put our trust in each other, we can find whoever’s been murdering citizens. I’m proposing an alliance, McCullum. Let us put our differences aside for once.” McCullum lets out an exasperated sigh before chewing his lower lip for a moment. Jonathan holds out a hand just as he did when he spared him after defeating him. A handshake - a show of faith.

“If you give me any reasons… I’ll flay you alive,” he promises, missing the usual vigour and hatred in his voice. He has no choice to collaborate with Jonathan, much to his chagrin.

“I won’t give you any reasons.”

“Fine.” McCullum, begrudgingly taking his hand to briefly shake it. Then, he moves past Reid to wait by the door. Jonathan flies onto the scaffold and pries the window open while thinking about how warm Geoffrey’s hand was, as if heated by the extinguishable flames of hatred.


	2. When He Drives A Stake Through Your Heart

The morgue hums with a profound and heavy silence that is occasionally broken by coughing or whistling. The morgue is no longer abandoned and seems to have been renovated. The last time Reid was here, the linoleum floor was covered with blood stains, dust and dirt but now it shines underneath the gas-lighting. He’s aware of the night guard that moves sluggishly through the halls. Sneaking McCullum into the morgue might be easier than he anticipates. Once he descends the staircase, he makes a bee-line for the door and sees McCullum peering through the window, his breath fogging the glass.

Once he opens the door, McCullum slips in before opening his mouth to speak. Reid does not give him the chance to reveal themselves to the night-guard. “There’s a keeper in the building. If we’re going to do this, we need to be prudent and silent, McCullum.” The Irishman gives him a sour look which is no doubt provoked by Reid’s shushing.

“Fine. Lead the way, then.” They move through the corridor, their shoes making stark sounds that echo off the walls. They can only hope that the keeper is careless enough to miss their presence. Once they reach the basement, the smell of formaldehyde and preservatives hit them with a sickening pungency. “Christ…,” McCullum gasps, lifting his scarf to cover his nose. It’s a smell Reid has become accustomed to; Besides, it is nothing compared to the smell of decomposing bodies.

“What was the victim’s name?”

“Ron Miller,” he replies, approaching Reid cautiously as he peruses the wall of drawers. Finally, he finds the surname along with his first name’s initial before opening the door and pulling out the drawer. McCullum yanks the white sheet away, revealing a lifeless, naked and pale corpse.

Reid pulls out a pair of leather gloves from his coat before slipping them on, his eyes flitting over the man’s dead body.

“What are the gloves for, Reid?”

“I don’t want to contaminate the body. Besides, forensics are becoming more and more resourceful as technology develops. I don’t want my prints to be lifted off of the body if the police are investigating,” he justifies before craning his neck to look closely at the sutured wounds on Miller’s abdomen.

Without a beat, McCullum scoffs, “you wouldn’t be thinking that if you were innocent of any crimes. You’re a murderer, after all.” Reid simply looks upward to catch his spiteful gaze before shaking his head and resuming his examination.

“Your Guard of Priwen is a gang of terrorists. Your ranks are filled with dishonest thieves who take advantage of the good folk of this city,” he returned as he runs a finger over the threading. “Curious…”

“What is it?”

“Take a look at the suturing on these wounds, what do you make of them?”

McCullum moves his face closer to the man’s belly before nodding. “They’re well-done. Whoever did this isn’t an amateur running around with thread and needle.” Looking upwards, he adds, “it’s a clean line. They must’ve used a scalpel. But… Who would go through all that trouble to steal an organ to eat it?”

“Somebody who knows how the body works. They know how to operate,” Reid scoffs, crossing his arms before draping the sheet over the body. It gets harder to touch Miller’s silicone-like skin. “They could be a surgeon, a veterinarian, a mortician or even a taxidermist. But, they’re definitely skilled.”

“How do you know that he didn’t just pick up a book and taught himself?” McCullum moves away, his hand clamped over his nose while he watches Reid push the drawer back into the wall. The door closes with an unexpectedly loud slam; They hope that nobody hears it.

“McCullum, I’m a surgeon. To make a cut this precise, you’d need a lot of experience and practice.” Its preciseness was unnerving to look at; Is it possible that one of the Doctors at Pembroke could have done this? “I think we need more information. Without any other information, this means nothing.”

“What do you propose then, Dr. Reid? I get the feeling you’re going off to look over the murder scene.” Reid simply nods in response as he treks towards the staircase, listening as McCullum trails behind and begins harping in the thick Dublin accent of his. “You won’t be able to go in there. It’s sealed and they’ve taken to putting a police officer outside to stop people from going in or gawking.” With a scoff, Reid shrugs off his concerns before ascending to the main level. As a vampire, doors of possibility swing open. He must admit, life is easier when there are alternative paths to follow. But, he knows that McCullum’s claims are not fiction. Five years must have given London plenty of time to recover; He won’t be able to stroll around during the night without arousing some suspicion. “You’ll get into trouble.”

“Oh, I was under the impression that I was in trouble when I consciously made the decision to work with a vampire hunter,” Reid replies.

“I promised not to kill you. We both need answers, I’d be an idiot to squander that opportunity.”

“Yes, you would.”

* * *

The flat looks just like any other - unassuming and small. A pot of flowers hang over the balcony railing, wilting after days of malnourishment. They must’ve violet, but their shade is closer to brown, now. “Anemones,” Reid remarks as they approach the flat. He wants to speak about how the sight of wilting flowers make him feel: a tinge of sadness. All the lovely little quirks that every human encompasses change once a person has died. They serve only reminders of how intricate and complex one’s life was before death.

“My mother grew these,” McCullum murmurs to himself, but Reid hears the confession anyway. He’s struck by the vulnerability of such a confession, but chooses to dismiss it and walk up to the officer standing by the front door. Lack of sleep seems to have worn the man’s body as he slumps against the brick wall with a burning cigarette wedged in his mouth. He might be easier to mesmerize than expected.

“Good evening, sir,” Reid greets, toeing his way closer to the old man. He’s well past retirement and it shows on his jaded face, hardened with wrinkles and a permanent frown line.

“‘Evenin’.” He nods before throwing his cigarette butt onto the cobblestone, stomping it with the bottom of his boot. “It’s strange to see somebody who isn’t a thief to be skulkin’ the roads at night.”

“How do you know I’m not a thief?” The officer simply gestures towards Reid’s wool overcoat. “You’re too rich to be lookin’ for an easy way out. So, then, who’re you?”

“I’m Doctor Jonathan Reid.”

“They already transported the body to the morgue at the Pembroke… Is that why you’re here?”

“No, it isn’t,” he replies before nodding towards McCullum standing nearby and watching. His posture changes as soon as attention’s drawn to him, his back straightens and he nods towards the officer. “This man personally knew Mr. Miller… They often played cards together. But, there’s a keepsake that he gave Miller. We were hoping to retrieve it from the flat, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the officer sighs, turning his head and looking at McCullum with pity softening his rough features. McCullum does little to feign sadness or disappointment until Reid shoots him a wary look. He nods solemnly before looking away, his body turning rigid under the scrutinizing gaze of the officer. “But, I can’t let you in. Why are you accompanying this man, anyway? Are you a physician?”

“Yes, which is why we need to get this keepsake. It would be detrimental to his recovery if he went without it.” His voice shimmers, echoing off the surrounding walls, but the officer’s eyes fall with resignation.

“Alright. Go in, but be quick about it. I don’t want to get in trouble with my superiors.” He thanks him before waving McCullum along and entering the apartment which reeks of the strong metallic smell of blood. Evidently, the cleaners were unable to remove the smell. It seems as if their night has been filled with the trademark smells of death.

“I’ll always hate leeches for that thing they do… charming and manipulating good people into doing things they don’t want.” He shuffles his way through the dimness of the flat, his hand bumping into the edge of furniture as to not trip or bump into something. “Fuck, I can hardly see,” he curses before feeling his way for a lamp.

Reid can see just fine the dark; Unbeknownst to McCullum, he can see the hunter aimlessly dart around the room. As amusing the sight is, Reid turns on the lights, revealing a large blood stain on the floor. Its oblong shape stretches across the hardwood like a deep crimson shadow, looming and ominous. He can just envision it: Miller lying on the floor, bleeding out like slaughtered swine. Such images do not disturb him. How blasé does he have to be to not find the sight of blood troubling? He looks over at McCullum, breathing deeply as his eyes flit around the stain with an impartial face. There is no doubt that their lives have been tainted with death; They have been desensitized, the both of them. Reid supposes that there’s a certain kinship, despite the fact that Geoffrey has tried to kill on many occasions.

He looks around the flat before spotting a broken mirror on the floor, its fragment scattered around it like broken teeth. “Our culprit broke something. There must’ve been a struggle.” McCullum enters the adjacent bedroom, noticing that objects have been thrown around and that the window is open by a crack.

“He slipped in through here.” His hand traces the gap; It’d be enough room for a slight person to slip through. But, it’s not much to go on. “You would think that the neighbours would’ve seen a bloke crawl through a window.”

“They would’ve heard if Miller was getting dragged from his bedroom to the living room. He would have been screaming,” he adds. It’s so odd that he can’t help but wonder whether the neighbours knew something about the situation. Did they know the culprit or did they simply dislike Miller enough to ignore the sounds of struggle and yelling?

“Don’t look too much into it, leech.” McCullum wanders over to the bed before plopping himself down on it before rolling a cigarette. “It’s the East End. There’s a certain mentality here that you don’t find in the more affluent areas of London.”

“Indifference? But, this man was being murdered and his neighbours did nothing? I find that very difficult to believe, regardless of the supposed ‘mentality’ of the people here.” Besides, he’s come to know that there is goodness in the hearts of men, and that it is simply circumstance that perverts their wholesomeness. McCullum’s opinion obviously differs since he scoffs at his comment.

“You come from money,” he explains, “I’ve grown up in Tallaght, witnessing the very worst of humanity because people didn’t have money. We were treated like criminals, but we were never given any other choice. Shakedowns, robbery, murder… This place is the same, only a different shade.” Reid knows that if he were still alive, he’d be blushing from shame. He clears his throat before looking out the window, avoiding McCullum’s glare. “Tonight’s investigation bore no fruit.”

“Well, we know that he’s skinny enough to go in through the window; He has medical knowledge, but that doesn’t narrow down the list and, he’s not a vampire if he managed to sneak in.” Reid rubs his face, exasperated before looking over at McCullum, “I don’t think I need your list. You’re free to go investigate on your own accord. I’ve held my end of the bargain and your list of supposed vampires isn’t much use to me.”

McCullum’s expression unexpectedly sours and he stops taking drags from his cigarette. His disappointment’s palpable, but Jonathan doesn’t understand why he’s upset. Maybe, he really hoped that the culprit was a vampire; Another excuse to hunt and torture another immortal, he supposes. “Wait, leech,” he says, his voice wooden with discomfort, “we could still help each other. I feel inclined to stop this monster from taking more lives. At least… with leeches, their perverted nature compels them to kill the innocent. But this man… he does it to satisfy his own sick desires.” He swallows hard, his eyes searching Jonathan’s as he awaits his response.

“Geoffrey, you don’t need me. I know you’re trying to appeal to my good nature, but I can’t trust the leader of the Guard of Priwen. You haven’t been very trustworthy,” he replies, “there’s no reason for you to ask for my help if you didn’t intend on killing me.”

“I know you don’t believe me. But, you’ve seen how determined I am to find this sick freak. I don’t need you for your abilities, but for your intelligence. After all, you did manage to locate the epidemic’s source without the need of resources.”

“Flattery doesn’t get one anywhere, McCullum,” Reid mutters before heading for the front door. “But, I’ll help you, only because you’ve demonstrated your restraint tonight. We’ll meet tomorrow night - the Pembroke Hospital.”

* * *

It’s four in the morning when he returns to the mansion. In her bedroom, Ashbury’s already in bed, ready to sleep the day away. He peeks out the window to see the pale morning sky, still adorned with stars that will eventually fade as morning arrives. He shuts the curtains until no light can penetrate the dark room. He wanders over to his side of the bed and watches Ashbury feign slumber. “Dr. Swansea’s agreed to see you. He’ll discuss a cure, but, I don’t think it would be wise to trust him.”

“I’ve known Edgar for years, Jonathan,” she murmurs, her eyes still closed. “I know what he’s capable of. Unless your decision to turn him has proved to be… unwise.” Suddenly, she sits up and stares at Jonathan while he undresses. “Has he changed that much?”

“I think immortality has roused a certain… hunger within him. I don’t know if I’ve made the right choice. I can only hope that he doesn’t harm any innocents.” It’s almost unrealistic to hope such a thing, especially when he knows how one hungers for power. But, he’s resisted the urge, why can’t Swansea. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’ll keep an eye on him. We need him right now.”

She shrugs and idly plucks a thread from her nightgown. “What about your investigation? Did anything of interest turn up?”

“A few things, but, I don’t think you’ll believe who I’ve struck an accord with - Geoffrey McCullum. I hope that I won’t come to regret my decision later.” She gives him a skeptical look, surprised that he would willingly join the vampire hunter.

“I hope so, too. I won’t mother-hen you, Jonathan. But, I don’t want you putting my daughter’s life into danger,” she warns. “I don’t want your goodness to blind you, either. I don’t want to lose you…” She stands up before crossing the space between them and taking his hands. “Will you be careful?”

“Yes, I promise, Elisabeth.” He cranes his neck and kisses her gently, feeling her body relax in his hold. “I’ll protect you and Charlotte from any harm.”

“You needn’t worry about me. It’s you who I fear for…” She caresses his cheek, searching his eyes before slipping away. “You’re so trusting, my dear. I don’t doubt that you might even consider him a friend. Will you think the same when he’s driving a stake through your heart?"


	3. Blood In The Streets

A great many people are still outside when Reid treks towards the hospital. He cherishes the slow and gradual change of seasons. He can appreciate the transition from autumn to winter especially, and how the trees cover the world in a layer of beautiful reds and oranges all while the temperature begins to lower. Winter, despite its cold and lifeless climate, provides the chance for Reid to actually live his life. Finally, Mother Nature gifts all immortal creatures with longer days by veering the nighttime. McCullum’s leaning against the hospital brick siding, smoking a cigarette all while observing people pass. To Jonathan, he seems like a voyeur, analyzing strangers; but, he knows that he’s not much better when it comes to probing people for information. The Irishman looks up, his eyes narrowing and slowly widening as he recognizes Reid’s signature overcoat - along with minor inclusions of a pair of gloves and a scarf.

When he’s close enough, McCullum suddenly throws an item towards Reid’s chest which falls flat onto the ground. “Another murder happened while the world was asleep,” he snarks, shaking his head. His face, etched with discomfort, finally softens before he speaks: “We need to find more information about him. I fear that we’re giving him more time to kill a lot more people.”

Reid picks up the item - a newspaper - which he unfolds before reading the front page. “‘Another Victim Killed by the Cannibal’…” He sniffs in disgust, finding the entire title distasteful and inconsiderate of a human life. He doesn’t know anything about the victim, but he feels a certain compassion and disappointment at what his life has been reduced to - tabloid journalism. “I don’t understand, how does the press know it was him?”

“They don’t. But, people need a bogeyman, Reid. There’s little to no information about the murder which is why it’s in a Tabloid Journal, it’s fiction, but fiction sells.” He steals the journal from Reid, folds it, and slides it back into the inside of his coat. “We won’t be able to enter the crime scene, I doubt that very much.”

“We’ll have to get our information somehow…” he mutters, anticipating prying information from one of the detectives or policemen surrounding the murder scene. “I wonder…You won’t rebuke me for using my abilities, will you, McCullum?” The other man pushes himself off the wall before walking towards the East End, still nursing his cigarette. He doesn’t react with anything more than an annoyed groan.

“There’s no other options. You’re already aware that I don’t approve of your methods,” he speaks, taking a drag and allowing the smoke to slip from his lips. “But, you’ve proven to me that you’re a little more trustworthy than most vampires. You honour your promises.”

He does not reply to him, but inwardly relishes the anguished compliment. It isn’t easy for McCullum to speak positively about Reid; so, it’s a welcome change from the curses and incessant violence inflicted on him. He reflects on the small piece of information that McCullum shared, by accident, probably. “It’s good to know that my word has merit.” Geoffrey shoots him a surly look which eventually falls into a weak smile and he shakes his head, equal parts peeved and amused by the comment.

“Enough talking, I’ve got a headache.”

* * *

They walked in silence, watching as a London fog began to roll around their feet, dampening their pant-legs until reached the apartments which was surrounded by officers, a coroner and rubberneckers, watching and harassing each other. “You can rest assured that they’re gathering only because it’s a murder,” McCullum mumbles as they enter the thick of the crowd, trying to squeeze past bodies to get a closer look at the flat. “They didn’t seem to care when vampires were taking advantage of the epidemic - a bloodbath of murder.”

“That’s because they were tired of seeing death, The Spanish Flu took a lot of lives. I can’t blame them for wanting to shut their eyes and look away. Man is a complicated creature,” Reid speaks, leaning so he can peer over somebody’s shoulder. He doubts that they’ll receive answer, especially when the police want nothing more than to disperse the crowd. “I think we’ll have better luck talking to the neighbours.” He grabs hold of McCullum’s sleeve before pulling towards the adjacent house.

“I doubt they’re going to open the door for you. I wouldn’t, if I had this chaos outside my home,”he hissed, brushing off his hand and following him. Reid knocks the door and waits, only to be answered with the distracting din of the crowd. “Let’s go,” Geoffrey urges, shaking the Doctor’s shoulder, “they’re not going to answer.” Just to spite him, Reid glances over at him with flared nostrils before knocking the door once more.

This time, they hear muffled and high voice, “go away! A man has just died! You lot need to go.”

“I told you,” McCullum mutters. Just as they turn to leave, they see a young woman near the crowd wave them over. Underneath the bright moonlight, her face looks as white as a geisha except more expressive.They exchange looks before walking up to the woman who glances around her as if she fears that somebody else is watching this interaction.

“Hello? Could I help you?”

“Yes, I noticed you both trying to talk to my neighbours,” she speaks, closing her coat around herself. “I wouldn’t waste my breath. Maybe if you bribe her, she’d listen,” she says, her voice brimming with sarcasm.

“Who are you?” McCullum’s initially confused expression hardens into something much more skeptical. “Do you know anything about the man who died here? We’re trying to investigate these murders.”

“Why are you doing that? Did you know one of the victims?”Curiously enough, she’s only looking at McCullum. Reid understands why: his eyes encompass a certain sadness that would leave anybody to draw the conclusion that he’s suffered loss. He knows he carries the burden of the death of a family.

Shaking his head, his voice lowers, “there’s no personal stake for either of us. We’re looking for answers for our reasons. Do you know anything?”

“Follow me.” She leads them to her flat which stands several metres away from the scene. As they enter, Reid notices the many yellowed posters that cover the wall like peeling wallpaper. Jonathan steps closer to the wall before reading one of the posters: an informative block of text on the subject of vampires and the occult. The less most intact pamphlet that does not bear any tear or damage reads: ‘Do not let the improving state of London distract you from the infestation of demons in London. They’re seizing this opportunity to feed on the innocents of this city, all while you celebrate! Don’t ignore the true epidemic.’ Right by his side, Reid hears the woman’s voice, “these pamphlets are from Clarence Crossley. He’s from the West End, but he’s taken to handing pamphlets outalmost everywhere in London. People thinks he’s mad… but, I believe him. He’s gathered quite the following in last year. I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking with him.”

“I know Clarence,” Jonathan informs, watching as her eyes light up. She’s starstruck for all the wrong reasons. How foolish was he for providing Crossley information about vampires; all he did was feed into his inane obsession. Now, he’s the leader of a sick cult that might as well be no better than St. Paul’s Systole or the Guard of Priwen. “We were childhood friends.”

“And now?”

“We don’t speak to each other anymore.” Before she can ask about their relationship, or lack of it, he moves away from the wall and asks, “how did you know the man who died?”

“We’re- we were neighbours. Franz moved here from Belgium with his wife before the war. They were decent folk, a lot nicer than most around here… When we went to war, she fell ill and died. It’s horrible to resume somebody’s death in a few words but… He came back and pretended that he was alright. In the last months, he’s changed from this kind and caring man to this… monster.” Her voice wavers as she speaks before she eventually stops talking to stop herself from crying. She falls into an armchair, apologizing as she darts her eyes around the room aimlessly. “I think he was killed by a vampire. I know how ridiculous it sounds…”

The two men look at each other, attempting to decipher what the other is thinking by sight alone. Reid does not know if McCullum is too easily blinded by his ideals that he believes the woman despite all of the evidence opposing her theory. “It doesn’t sound ridiculous, ma’am,” Geoffrey reassures before sitting in the chair across from her. “Did you hear anything note-worthy last night?”

“Yes, I did. I heard such loud screaming. God, it was terrible,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I want to make him pay for what he did to Franz. I want to see justice rendered even if Franz was no longer the man I knew. Nobody deserves that.”

“Pardon me. Did you say ‘he’?”

“I have to come clean. During the day, this man was in the neighbourhood and he came to my door - as well the other neighbours - and he offered money in exchange for my silence. It was a lot of money, too.” She takes a deep breath, her body leaning back in her chair. Her young face seems pre-maturely aged with a deep set of frown lines that wrinkle and crease as she quietly thinks. “I know that the others must’ve taken the hush money. We’re all struggling to live and eat; bribing us lot was probably a good idea. But, I refused. I still have my principles to follow, even if I have little else. The man was quite understanding and polite but he threatened to kill me if I spoke to the police.” As she speaks her last words, her body shivers and she stares down at the floor with a blank stare.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” Jonathan murmurs, his voice softening. Despite her fanaticism, he knows that she’s deeply troubled by her inactivity. “I don’t suggest you go to the authorities, either. I fear that this man… whoever he is, might actually hold legitimacy to his threats…”

“I’ll have to disagree with my ‘friend’ here,” McCullum interjects, giving the other man a stony look. “If you believe something’s wrong, ma’am, you need to act on it. This isn’t the time for selfishness. This is a murderer who is going to take a lot more lives and destroy even more.” She lifts her head, her eyes staring right at the vampire hunter with awe. She’s inspired by his words which troubles Jonathan to the core; he can imagine herself getting locked up after spewing her vampire-obsessed drivel to the authorities.

“Please, ignore him. Did this man give you his name?”

“No. But, he was well-dressed… I’d say he comes from the nicer parts of town. Brown hair and brown eyes… I wouldn’t be able to pick him out in a crowd.” She hides her face in her hands, sighing deeply into her cupped palms before dropping them into her lap. “I think you both need to leave. I have work in the morning,” she says, standing up and leading them to the door. As they deliver an abundance of generic platitudes, thanking her for her time, she smiles weakly at them. Then, she grabs hold of McCullum’s forearm and looks right into his uneasy eyes, “thank you, by the way. You’ve made me realize something.”

* * *

They’re walking back towards the Pembroke, the streets encasing nothing but silence and looming feeling that an argument might break out. Reid cannot suffer the silence anymore, so he stops walking to confront the hunter. “Do you know that you’re going to endanger that woman’s life?”

“No, I’m not. She might join the Guard of Priwen or end up like Ichabod Throgmorton or your friend, Clarence,” he replies without pause. Reid knows he’s been anticipating this question and that he’s mentally prepared himself to justify himself as guilty people often do. Perhaps he knows that his words might lead her to doing some very stupid things just for the sake of honour. “By the way, how does that feel? Having one of your closest friend become someone that devotes their entire being into stopping your kind?”

“There are many things I can say that could reopen old wounds, but I’m not like you and I won’t stoop as low as you and resort to childish remarks.” He can feel his temper rising, like a large wave of rage washing over him. He cannot believe the reckless behaviour that McCullum exhibits as if he’s a young adult. “I’m more disturbed by the fact that your hypocrisy. According to you, my dear McCullum, vampires are nothing more than dark puppetmasters, using humans as their pawns. It’s all you’ve accused me of since we’ve met. Yet, you won’t bat an eye when you’re sending some scared woman into risking her life for your rotten fucking ideals!” His own voice echoes off the wall of the street, returning to his ears as an unrecognizable sound. He sounds so hoarse and so mindlessly rage-filled that he’s filled with shame.

In the darkness, he can still observe McCullum’s broody features contort. He drives his body into Reid’s, shoving him against a wall. The sharp jagged outlines of bricks dig into Jonathan’s back, sending a shockwave of pain through him. He exclaims with anguish before catching his jaw with a vengeful haymaker. The hunter staggers backwards, one of his hands gingerly touching his tender and aching jaw. “That’s it, I’m finishing this. You’re done, beast!” He unsheathes a blade from the inside of his jacket, its cool surface reflecting the moonlight. It’s all Reid can see. All he can feel is his own unfaltering fear that McCullum might actually succeed in killing him. As the Irishman runs towards him, he grabs his wrists, preventing him from stabbing him even if the blade cuts and slices his hand.

At the end of the street, they hear shrill laughter. “Go on and kill him, then. You’re so close!” They both turn their heads to spot a figure, growing more detailed and large as it moves down the street to where they are. McCullum pulls his arms away and puts away his blade, seemingly persuaded to postpone his murder. Reid relaxes and glances down at his hand, the small nicks slowly closing as they begin healing. Whoever the man is, he’s saved him from certain death. “Are you two having a lovers’ spat?” Despite the South London dialect coming the man, he’s dressed in an expensive brown suit and a boater hat that one would not expect to see in this squalid part of town.

“This doesn’t concern you,” McCullum spits, rubbing the outline of his jaw as he directs an unwelcome glare towards him. “Go run off to wherever you came from.”

“This does concern me since I’m supposed to kill you. My boss has been telling me that he’s gettin’ the sense there was two rats followin’ him. You two stick out, especially when you’re fightin’ in the streets.” He theatrically as he slowly reaches to retrieve a revolver from the holster around his waist, “that was supposed to be my job.” He aims his pistol towards McCullum’s face, but before the man can pull the trigger, he shoves him out of the way, serving himself as a shield. He feels the familiar pain of a gun shot in his chest, the pain flaring through his upper torso. Clutching his oozing wound, he pulls out his own gun, brandishing it before firing at the man, catching him square in the shoulder. The impact of the shot knocks him off his feet where he lands on the concrete on his knees.

McCullum crawls to the man, his movements made clumsy with the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. With his dagger, he goes to drive its tip through the thug’s chest only for him to knock McCullum in the side of his head with the barrel of his gun. But, the vampire hunter persists and manages to pin his wrists to the ground all while urging Reid to help him. “Reid! Help me!” While Reid knows it would be easier to abandon McCullum and leave him to his fate, he can’t find the strength to move away. Despite the attempts made on his life, he has a duty to keep the other man alive despite how difficult he makes it. He runs over and rips the revolver from the thug’s hand, pointing its barrel at him while McCullum stands up. Slowly, the thug gets up before staring at them with the wide eyes of a frightened animal.

“Go on, run,” Reid seethes in pain, his chest throbbing from the shot. The man stoops to grab his blood-stained hat, his eyes flitting between the two men. He underestimated them, but he’s aware of the fleeting chance of survival. After a few tentative steps backwards, he turns around and sprints for the alleys.

As he catches his breath, he yells after the man, “we’ll find you! Get your boss to leave us alone!” Then, he looks beneath him at the puddle of blood that looks similar to an oil spill. “Reid. Let me apologize… I lost my temper, I don’t react so well to accusations,” he speaks. “But, you shouldn’t have insulted the Guard like that."

The Doctor shoves the thug’s gun against McCullum’s chest, giving him the stolen piece of property before backing away. “You gave into your hateful tendencies and you acted like a child. I could’ve left you in the hands of that thug, but unlike you, I don’t hate you despite your affiliations with the Guard of Priwen.” Still holding the gun, he stares at Reid with an incomprehensible facial expression. He looks downwards, shaking his head as he slips the revolver into the lining of his coat. “I’m not surprised that you don’t have anything to say for yourself. I wonder if you would’ve done the same if I were in your position… You might’ve even helped the man.”

“That’s not true,” he argues, raising his voice only to realize how upset he sounds. He falls into a momentary silence during which Reid prods his gut with his fingers. In a hour, bone, muscle and skin will regenerate in the gaping hole. “How’s that wound? Does it need medical attention?”

“I’m a Doctor, thank you, I can take care of it…” There’s no resentment felt towards McCullum, only confusion. He can’t understand how blindly devoted he is; he would’ve killed for the Guard over a few words. Every so often, there are glimpses of a person who truly cares about humanity and believes in values such as honour and compassion; yet, it’s difficult to look at Geoffrey without seeing the Guard. “Goodnight, Geoffrey. It looks like this investigation has gotten a lot more complicated,” he remarks as he departs, leaving McCullum in the street.


	4. Empty House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for the late update! Life's been pretty hectic.

It had been two weeks since he last saw McCullum. Reid’s decision to terminate whatever arrangement they had was not borne of maliciousness or resentment, not mostly, anyway. After Franz’s murder, there ceased to be any murders or any new information. The sudden lack of news was more unsettling than reassuring; was the city of London caught in the eye of the storm of the murders?

Reid, Elisabeth and Charlotte leave the Finsbury theatre, garbed in their best clothes as they discuss the Shakespeare play ‘Much Ado About Nothing’. Elisabeth suggested it, knowing how fixated Reid was on his investigation and how he had left things with Geoffrey. London rejoices the end of the murders, but Reid knows that they haven’t ended, only postponed. He was unable to enjoy the play without imagining all of the pending deaths that are soon to happen as soon as he allows himself to relax. Throughout the play, Elisabeth’s hand would gentle rest on his arm whenever his mind exhausted itself with such thoughts. It was if she knew.

“Charlotte, Jonathan and I have some business to attend to at the Pembroke hospital. Do you want me escort you home?” Charlotte’s face sours at the idea of exclusion from their activities, but she understands that the boundaries her mother has set regarding their ‘quest’ are to be respected.

“I can walk by myself, mother. I’m not a little girl anymore,” she replies, glancing at her mother with disappointment.

“I’m sorry. I’m your mother, you understand why I’m looking out for you,” she says as she outstretches a hand to hold her daughter’s shoulder. “We’ll see you soon.” Charlotte walks on without looking back at her mother, obeying her orders while implicitly expressing her disapproval. Once she’s out of ear shot, Elisabeth brings a hand to her face and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ve lived for centuries, but being a mother never gets any easier. I’d say it gets even harder.” They set for Pembroke, anticipating a long and weary walk. Reid has become weak over the course of two weeks without much to do except research. He grabs her hand and runs his thumb over her smooth and cool palm, hoping to reassure her. They walk through the vacant streets while finding the absence of activity beautiful albeit lonely. “Anyway… I don’t know if we’re getting any closer to a cure with Swansea.”

“What have you been doing?”

“He’s trying to synthesize a cure by comparing the effects of my blood and his blood. We aren’t using living subjects, which makes it difficult.”

“I have a feeling he tried to convince you to experiment on living patients.” Swansea would subject the worst possible experimentation on living patients if they allowed him. After the events of the epidemic, the words ‘blood transfusion’ always served as a sort of ghastly reminder. “Did you learn anything?”

“Not exactly, but, I believe he’s resorted to using the organs of Skals. It makes sense, I suppose… There’s a lot of trial and error involved.” Reid sighs deeply. He didn’t expect much progress in the span of a few weeks, but, after five years, he’s grown impatient. He believes Elisabeth has, too.

At the Pembroke, he notices a familiar figure leaning against the building. McCullum. “I can’t believe he’s here,” he sighs. He doubts that he’s waiting for him; it’s far more likely that McCullum was harassing Swansea. As they come closer, McCullum’s posture straightens as soon as he recognizes Reid. “Hello, McCullum,” he greets, unable to feign indifference. It’s bizarre to speak to him after their confrontation.

“Dr. Reid,” he addresses before glancing at Elisabeth. “Who’s this?”

“This is Lady Ashbury,” he replies before adding, “she’s an associate of Dr. Swansea.” Uncomfortably, she glances aside at Reid. For somebody like McCullum, even the smallest piece of information could lead to a hunt.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, McCullum. Reid, I’ll go speak with Swansea, I’ll be back soon.” She squeezes Jonathan’s arm in a tender gesture before entering the hospital and leaving the man alone in the company of McCullum.

“Does she know?”

“Yes, she knows. But, I would never consider turning her,” he lies. It’s best that McCullum remains unaware of Elisabeth’s true nature. If only he knew that her blood had caused the epidemic… It’s a secret worth guarding for her and her daughter’s best interests. “Before you speak, just know that I would never harm those I love.” He watches McCullum stare at him, his blue eyes icy and wary. Just as the Irishman opens his mouth, Jonathan interjects before he can speak what he knows he wants to say, “don’t speak of Mary, please.”

The other man’s mouth closes before he stares down at his boots. Reid wonders if the reason he averts his gaze has anything to do with regret or shame. They know each other well enough to know that there are certain subjects that needn’t be brought up. Despite how vicious McCullum was regarding the death of his sister. This time, he doesn’t persist and, instead, draws idle circle with the toe of his boot. “The Guard of Priwen’s investigating the murders.”

“I thought your involvement was mostly altruistic,” Reid scoffs, shaking his head. He should’ve expected this outcome. “How did you justify it? These murders barely have anything to do with vampires.”

“What about that woman we met? She seemed convinced that it was the doing of a vampire,” he answers. As Reid releases a humourless laugh, a dark shadow crosses his face and his face creases into a glare.

“You’re feeding into her delusions. How very responsible of you. Clarence Crossely has made her obsessed; that doesn’t mean she’s right. No vampire could’ve slipped through those windows. That thug that attacked us was no immortal.” McCullum retrieves a cigarette from a case, his brows furrowing.

“Maybe not,” he says, shrugging. His hands bring a lit match to his lips, lighting his cigarettes. Peppered all over his trembling hands are thin and pale scars, testimonies of a hard-lived life. “You’re right. I’m not certain that we’re facing a vampire. But, after our altercation with that thug, I was left with many questions…”

Reid’s hostile and rigid stare falters and he finds himself staring down his shoes. He couldn’t deny that he was still plagued with questions concerning their prior encounter with the thug. The entire investigation seemed to grow even more complicated whenever they attempted to understand it. He doesn’t blame McCullum’s desperation. “So, you’re using the Guard of Priwen as a resource. Do they understand that these murders might not have anything to do with vampires?”

“No. But, as long as they have something to believe in… I don’t mind allowing them to think that,” he says quickly, chortling. His eyes avert Reid’s, leading the other to believe that he can barely justify lying to his own men. It’s killing him or leaving him wracked with guilt; he’s relieved that he’s not in his position. “I’ve got an informer as well. I trust he’ll be more useful. It’s easy to keep your focus on an entire group of men, but a single person… He might not even realize that somebody’s doing research.”

“Who would that be?”

“I’m not going to tell, Reid,” he refuses, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’ll like hearing it.” He looks at him, holding his eye before his facial expression softens. “I feel terrible about using him, but he knows a lot of information about a lot of citizens. It’s… concerning.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and as he sighs out, a plume of cigarette smoke leaves his lips. “But, I’ll take anything at this point.” Reid doesn’t reply, thinking instead on who he could’ve possibly employed for help. In his mind, he already knows who it is. He only hopes that he’s wrong. “I could still use your help, if you aren’t preoccupied.”

“I don’t think I could help you, McCullum. I only started investigating because I thought the Police were doing an inefficient job. I doubt that I’d be much of an asset - you have the Guard of Priwen and Clarence Crossely.” Geoffrey’s thick eyebrows raise in amusement, seemingly surprised that Reid was making the assumption that Crossely was aiding him.

“Did he tell you?”

“Of course not. I had a hunch that he would. Say the word ‘vampire’ and he’ll come running…” A chuckle leaves him, only for him to realize how false and empty it sounds. There’s no way of disguising his disappointment when it comes to what his childhood friend has become: a laughing stock, obsessed with death. “I wish I could help him.” He’s surprised to hear himself speak so vulnerably about his friend, but he feels as though McCullum knows enough about loss to not judge him. Just as he expected, Geoffrey doesn’t do anything more than give a solemn nod. “But, you need to reconsider. If anything were to happen to him.”

“Nothing of harm is going to happen to him, Dr. Reid. You need to trust that everything is going to work out,” he reassures, tossing his dead cigarette onto the ground. He squashes it with the sole of his boot, considering it before glancing back at Reid. He doesn’t believe him. “I still think you should aid me in this. Not for my sake, but for yours.”

Before Reid can speak, he hears Elisabeth’s voice beside him: “let’s go, Jonathan. I’ve spoken with Swansea.” He turns his head and looks at Ashbury who scrutinizes Geoffrey with an uneasy stare. “Good evening, Mr. McCullum,” she says, nodding at him out of courtesy before taking Jonathan’s hand. The hunter, slumped against the wall, presses his lips into an uncomfortable smile and watches as their bodies disappear into the fog.

* * *

On the Crosselys’ porch, Reid stares out onto the street - brightly lit and busy. Unlike the East End, people stroll down the street without needing to fear the possibility of being attacked or murdered. They don’t know how lucky they are, not having to worry about losing their lives or having their neighbourhood be reduced to nothing more than the location of a crime. The front door opens, shedding a beam of light onto the porch while Venus’s pale face peeks out of the gap. “Jonathan…? Is that you? It’s the middle of the night,” she murmurs, rubbing her sleep filled eyes. “What could you possibly want at this hour?”

“I’m sorry, Venus,” he begins, “I need to speak with Clarence.” She stares at him as though she expects him to reassure her that he is only joking. She can hardly believe that she’s being awakened so Reid could speak with her husband.

“Alright… He’s in the parlour… working,” she mutters, undoing the door’s chain. He follows her into the home while memories of having dinner and celebrating their wedding returns to him in fragments. On the couch, Clarence reads a book, his lips parted as he soundless whispers the words to himself. “Clarence, darling, you have a visitor. Look, it’s Jonathan.” Finally, he looks up, but there’s no flash of recognition or surprise. His eyes stare at him lifelessly before he greets Reid.

“Hey, Johnny.” He slips a ribbon between the book before setting it aside. “Wh-what are you doing?” Reid watches Venus as she ascends the staircase, listening to the sound of her feet hitting the floorboards until he can hear the sound of the bed creaking under her weight. “It’s been so long. Five years, it’s like we never get to see each other anymore.” He stands and crosses the room before enveloping his friend in a hug.

“I’ve missed you, friend,” Jonathan sighs. He looks upon old memories with a bittersweet fondness, feeling his smile face. “I’ve been travelling, I’m sorry. But, I need to speak to you about something.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been told that you’ve been working with Geoffrey McCullum.” His friend’s face brightens, beaming with pride. “Apparently, you’re, what, a spy?”

“An informer. I know a lot of people in the East End,” he nodded, “I’m going to try to get some information out of the neighbours. McCullum told me about the murderer paying for their silence.”

“That’s what I need to talk about. This is a dangerous game you’re playing,” Reid speaks, keeping his voice slow and careful. “I know you feel responsible, like you need to help. But, you’re risking a lot, and you are risking your life.”

“You can’t randomly show up in my life just to tell me what to do,” Clarence replies. He shakes his head before backing away from Jonathan, scoffing in utter disbelief. “Five years, and the only time you consider visiting me is when you’re trying to steal this opportunity from me.”

“Clarence, please…” He doesn’t know what else to say, especially when he knows there’s some truth to his words. He hasn’t been a very good friend, nor has he been a good father. “I know I haven’t been there.”

“No, you haven’t.” Clarence moves to the window, staring out and primming up his lips before glancing over towards Jonathan. For a moment, they simply stare at each other, wondering how their friendship could have gotten to this state. Reid knows he’s just as responsible as Clarence who’s allowed his obsessions get the best of him. “You should probably go, Johnny. I’m afraid you’ve just wasted a visit.”

* * *

As he descends their porch, he spots McCullum standing nearby. His clothes and his rough face contrasts with most of the residents of the West End. He wonders if peoplelook at him with suspicions. They’ve gotten to a strange point in their relationship where McCullum doesn’t even need to speak or explain his presence. They’re able to converse just by exchanging facial expressions. Finally, Jonathan decides to break the silence and allow his walls to come down. “I’ve lost another friend. I just wonder what I’ll lose next.” The vampire hunter looks down at his boots before glancing aside uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I’m just… grieving,” he murmurs, approaching McCullum. “What brings you here?”

“I had a feeling that you were going to try to convince Crossely to back out.” He sniffs, his eyes still fixed on the vacant space before he slowly locks his gaze onto Reid. There’s no discernible expression on his face, nothing that can give Reid a faint idea of how he feels.

“You’re upset with me.”

“No, I’m not, actually,” he reveals, shrugging. “That isn’t to say I’m not annoyed by your antics. You hadn’t even told me about it.” Would he have told him if he knew McCullum wouldn’t react negatively? Perhaps, but there’s never any sure way to know how McCullum will react to anything. “But, I understand that you care deeply for Clarence, he’s your friend.”

“I’m not sure if that word reflects our relationship - it’s certainly strained.” He receives an uncomfortable half-smile from McCullum. He can scarcely believe that he’s confiding in him. Desperation drives people to do strange things, he supposes. “Are you off to go speak with him?”

“No, I actually came to see you. I was… going to yell at you. But, now, I’m not so certain if that’s the right course of action.” His pale eyes narrow as he peers into the house from which Clarence looks out. “He’s watching us.” Reid glances over his shoulder to find Clarence observing them. He can only pray that he can’t hear them through the glass.

“I need to leave. Would you try to talk to him, convince him to stop this nonsense?” He moves past McCullum, as the pit in his stomach grows. It isn’t just Clarence that he’s lost, but everything from his old life. Coming back to London was a mistake, like returning to an empty home.


	5. Crucifixion

Staring at her reflection, Pippa notices the bags under her eyes, thick and purple. Although she’s only twenty-six, she feels decades older. It’s the accumulation of sleepless night, stress and the cumbersome thoughts of leaving Pembroke. Five years, and she still finds herself working at the hospital. It could be a lot worse, considering how much things have improved since the epidemic. She and Milton have moved into a nicer flat, but, she doesn’t think it’s enough to raise a family in. Despite her age, she can’t imagine settling down, especially when she hasn’t left an impact on the world. After splashing cold water onto her face, she shivers and slips out of the lavatory and glances into the hallway.

_Only an hour left_ , she reminds herself, sighing before walking into one of the rooms. She picks up one of the clipboards, reading the medication they had administered to the patient. The patient is a young woman, not much younger than her, sleeping soundly with her lips parted and a light snore coming from her. Pippa considers whether or not she’s like her - looking to make a difference. Perhaps she’s some mother with five children; her life starting and ending at the threshold of her home. She shudders to think of such a life. A knot begins to form within her belly, making it hard to breathe. It’s like breathing through a wet cloth.

Despite how much work is left to do, she steps outside to smoke a cigarette. She lights it, her eyes flitting around the soft evening light. Just as she takes a drag, she notices a putrid smell. It’s pungent enough to make her eyes water. She can’t place the smell due to its overall strength, but it’s almost sweet. “What is that smell…?” She drops her cigarette, barely smoked, before walking towards the stench which grows stronger. Pippa stops, plants her hand on the wall before gagging, her stomach jumping. For a moment, she considers running inside and getting the help of another nurse, but she pushes on and rounds the corner until she reaches the nearby garden.

Right here, it’s the worst. She covers her mouth and nose, trying futilely block it out. There’s nothing on the ground: no animal carcass. Pippa sighs out, wiping her watering eyes before moving to return to the hospital. But, then she catches something in the upper corner of her eyes. With dread in her heart, she slowly lifts her head. All she sees are fragments: a pale lifeless hand; two shining eyes, staring at a blank space and a the sight of blood and entrails, oozing out a long and gaping wound. All of her breath’s left her and her mind screams at her to move, but some primal fear keeps her trapped there, staring. Finally, Pippa falls onto her knees and screams; it’s all she can do.

* * *

Reid wakes up to the sound of Elisabeth’s voice. From above him, her pale blue eyes are fixed on him as she shakes him awake. “Jonathan, wake up,” she pleads. The vampire sits up, rubbing his eyes of sleep. “Something terrible has happened,” she says, unable to disguise her nervousness.

“What? What time is it?”

“It’s only eight,” she murmurs before pulling his arm, encouraging him to get out of bed. He slips out, still groggy and in need of sleep. “But, that doesn’t matter. Somebody died at the hospital - murdered, I mean.”

Although his heart does not beat, Reid believes he feels his pulse skip. If there wasstill colour in his cheeks, he would be undoubtedly turn ashen. After all these weeks of peace, he didn’t think that the murderer was active. He thought he skipped town as soon as he noticed McCullum, Reid or the Police following his trail. Jonathan draws a deep breath and stares at Elisabeth who looks up at him, equally terrified.

“I was speaking with Swansea earlier when we heard a scream. It scared us both, we didn’t know what had happened. That’s when I went out to investigate what happened, but saw Nurse Hawkins walking into the hospital, crying and holding her mouth as though she was going to vomit…”

“What did you see, Elisabeth?”

“It was… awful, Jonathan. In the garden, somebody had… crucified this woman and disembowelled her.” Her eyes fell to the floor, avoiding Jonathan’s gaze.

“Are… are you okay, love?”

She looks up, her lips pursed before shaking her head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a tough old girl,” she reassures. He wonders if she’s thinking about the violent she herself committed centuries ago. They look at each other, unspeaking before he moves to the armoire to dress.

“I need to go there. I know McCullum’s going to be there, we have a lot to discuss if this murder is done by who we think it is,” he says, pulling on a white button-up before buttoning it up.

“Be careful, Jonathan.”

* * *

Just as expected, Jonathan sees McCullum standing by the scene along with nurses and the police who keep ushering the Irishman out of the way. He doesn’t seem to listen as he only glowers at them and refuses to budge. As soon as he notices Reid, he quickly walks up to him but Reid only concentrates on the sight. He stops in his tracks as soon as he realizes that he recognizes the murdered woman. They had spoken to her after Franz’s death. Suddenly, he feels nauseous.

“I can’t believe it…,” McCullum whispers, joining Reid who finds a bench to sit down on. “I didn’t think she’d get killed. Trust me, Reid, I had no say in this.”

“I know.” He knows that it’s irresponsible to pin all the blame on McCullum, although he finds it difficult especially when her pale corpse looms in his peripherals. The hunter looks over at the body before contemplating the ground with a sickly colour in his cheeks. What is there to say?

“He’s tying up loose ends,” McCullum murmurs, joining Reid on the bench. “Or… he’s taunting us. He’s trying to send us a message. Why else would it be her, in front of Pembroke as well?”

“How’s Swansea taking it?”

“I’m not allowed inside the hospital, remember? But, I’ve heard that he’s fuming. I suppose that this will hurt the Pembroke’s reputation…,” he replies, snorting slightly. His laughter is almost inappropriate. Perhaps it’s an instance of schadenfreude. Reid smiles but decides not to comment. He has a feeling that Swansea will be battling a frenzy of media and journalists. It’s unlikely that Elisabeth will be able to work with him in the following week.

“Where does this leave us, McCullum?”

“What do you mean? Are you proposing we work together?” His head turns slightly, his face blank and unrevealing. Accepting to work with Geoffrey would be a foolish course of action, especially after all the times he betrayed his trust.

“No, no, I suppose not.” Reid shrugs. He doesn’t know what it means, but it seems so… strange to ignore this event. “I just don’t want this woman’s death to be in vain.”

“Neither do I, Reid. I suppose we can work… on our own, if that’s what you think is wise.”

“I’m not certain, Geoffrey.” He doesn’t know how to describe it, but he feels a certain kinship with him; yet, he doesn’t trust, not by a long shot. “I don’t think working together is wise. We have our own… styles and convictions.”

“I suppose so. We’ll have to investigate on our own. Hopefully, one of us finds the bastard.” McCullum stands before looking over his shoulder. “I’ve found that we often work better together, what do you think?” Reid shrugs before eventually nodding. They were both quite intelligent people; with both of their ideas and minds working in unison, they managed to find out several things, even if most of it happened by pure coincidence.

“Alright, then. Let’s go look through her apartment.” A small smile cracks on McCullum’s face; so scarcely does he sport a non-sardonic smile that it appears strange to Reid. But, he’s evidently pleased that they’ll be working together, and although Reid is far from trusting him or calling him ‘friend’, he is not entirely unpleasant to have around.

Once they get to her apartment, they noticed that one of the first floor windows is cracked open, enough for a body to slip through. Casting a worried glance, Reid tries to push the window before poking his head into the darkness of her flat. All that greets him is an impenetrable darkness and a rank smell, similar to that of the crime scene. The smell of death, something he knows he can never forget, especially after the war.

“McCullum, do you smell that?” The Irishman nods, his nostrils flaring before he moves past the vampire to crawl in through the window. He enters feet-first before landing on the floor, cursing about the darkness before he shuffles about. Reid watches him flail in the dark until the dim light of an oil lamp. Reid glances behind his shoulder at the empty street, finding nobody. Despite this, there’s a knot of anxiety in his gut that he can hardly ignore even as he slips into the flat.

On her bed, they see the small and fragile shape with yellow feathers scattered around its form. “Is… that a canary?” Reid moves closer until he notices its beak and its ill-shapen body. “Why would he do this?” He strips away from the sight. He’s seen enough death, but this particular killing has such depravity that his chest begins to feel heavy.

“He might just be the kind of sick person who murders animals. A sociopath, I suppose,” McCullum answers, avoiding the sight by looking at himself in her vanity mirror. He can’t blame him. It’s a troubling sight. “No, maybe he knows that we were going to investigate. This is some way of taunting us.”

“The thug must have told him. I don’t understand why a cannibal would have… underlings.” Reid begins searching the nightstand, finding only pill boxes and pamphlets. There must be some sort of clue, unless the killer had stripped the place of any valuable information. “McCullum, quit eyeing yourself in the mirror and come help me find something - letters, a journal, anything.” The other man softly huffs but begins looking through her wardrobe. For half an hour, they look through her entire flat; searching her kitchen, her living room, her bedroom and bathroom brought no results, only hints that she must’ve led a monotonous and lonely life.

Such a waste of life. After prying open a toolbox only to find a set of screwdrivers and miniature tools, McCullum drops the box. It causes a jarring sound and they both jump before he swears, “this is a waste of time. There’s nothing here. We need to leave, we’re wasting time and we need another lead. We’ll talk with the neighbours again.” Reid doesn’t think to argue, only because he is partially right.

He nods solemnly before moving towards the window until a floorboard groans under his foot. He glances upward at McCullum who stares and shrugs, confused by his puzzled expression. Jonathan drops onto one knee before inspecting one of the floorboards, one of them paler than the others and thinner in width. “Help me with this.” Geoffrey joins him and they pull the floorboard, revealing a small space cramped with letters of all shapes and sizes. He grabs them, sorting through them only to find one of the letters belonging to this month. The letter smells of the cramped compartment: musty and dank. His thumb slips underneath the envelop’s glued flap, opening it. Meanwhile, McCullum drops to his knees, sitting as he peers over Reid’s shoulder to read the letter.

“It’s in French.” There are only a few words Reid can identify, all of them having been picked up from his time in the war. But, overall, the letter is ciphered. “That’s strange. She didn’t seem like she would speak French…”

“Can’t you read it?” He moves slightly just to be able to read the letter, as if he would understand it. “Is it from Franz?”

“No,” he replies, shooting McCullum a blank glance before returning his eyes on the letter. The calligraphy is hurried, rushed, and somehow… strangely familiar. “It was sent within this week. It’s somebody else…”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do except decipher it.” He slips his hand underneath Reid’s arm, pulling himself upward before setting the floorboard right where it was.

Reid slips the letter within his coat, setting it in a pocket as his mind begins to twist and turn with thought.

* * *

At this hour of the night, the library is on the precipice of closing. As far as he can tell, he’s the only soul in the building save for some worker whom he has not yet seen. The dimness of the light fixtures do little to provide light and thick silence creates an atmosphere that Reid can only describe as chilling. He doesn’t think he would be as easily scared if it weren’t for the sight of that dead woman still lingering in his mind. Despite all of the death he had seen during the epidemic, he hadn’t seen such viciousness. There were no words to describe the sort of horror he felt upon seeing it, and the surge of hatred it fuelled towards whoever did it. He was going to find, with or without McCullum’s help. It didn’t matter, he knew that he could no longer sit idly by anymore. 

At a desk, by lamplight, he glances from the letter to an English-French dictionary.He’s already scribbled down the first few sentences which translate to: ‘ _Thank you for your help, Estelle. I think I’m getting closer to finding out more about him. I’ll have to tell McCullum and the Guard what I’ve found._ ’ Reid stares at the page, finding it difficult to swallow as he thinks hard about who the letter could be from. He has no doubt in his mind that Clarence has been following through with his promise to help the Guard, despite his attempts to persuade him not to. For a moment, he feels resentment towards McCullum but he knows that Clarence wouldn’t have listened to him anyway. Can he blame him? He hasn’t been there for him for years.

At the other end of the building, he hears the creak of an opening door before the sound of shoes striking the linoleum as they get closer. McCullum spots Reid at one of the tables before picking up his pace and joining him at the table. He sits across from him and grabs the paper, his eyes narrowing as he reads over his translation. By the look on his face, he’s both surprised and disappointed by what little progress Reid has made. “This is Clarence,” he says, looking up and catching Reid’s eyes. The other man nods, chewing the hangnail on his thumb. “We should translate the rest and go speak with him.”He looks around before lighting a cigarette, falling silent so Reid can focus and work. “By the way, I haven’t told you, but, I… really appreciate you working with me, even after our few scuffles.”

“I surprise myself each time I forgive you.”

“You’re better as an ally than an enemy, that’s for certain.”

“Is that we are? Allies in some business arrangement?” Somehow, it feels so limiting to describe himself as McCullum’s ally, but he doesn’t know if he can call himself his friend.

For a good twenty minutes, he continues working until the door slams open. The sound causes the both of them to jump up, their hearts stopping just at the jarring sound. Prepared, McCullum pulls out a combat knife from his overcoat, his eyes darting around but not fast enough to catch what seems to be a blur of motion. A man, his hair blond like a morning star, runs towards the table before grabbing the letter. Reid quickly catches him in a tight hold, looking at their culprit. He has a wiry figure and eyes that are disturbingly green against the sleepless bags under his eyes. Before they can subdue him, he leans forward, slamming his forward against Reid’s before making off with the letter. The two men share a worried glance before running off after him, leaving the library and descending its stairs only to find an empty street. “Go left, I’ll go right,” Reid orders before running, using his powers to spring across the street in search of that bright flame of hair. After awhile, he realizes that he must have gone left and hopes that McCullum managed to catch him. Upon meeting up with the vampire hunter, he finds him empty handed and confused.

“He managed to evade me,” he admits, rubbing his face. “He took the letter… and…”

“That doesn’t matter. We know that it was from Clarence and what the killer looks like. This is a striking blow, Geoffrey,” he reassures before hesitantly reaching out to pat his shoulder. In response, the Irishman scoffs and raises his brow.   
“Let’s go pay your friend a visit.”

* * *

Once again, Reid finds himself standing on Clarence’s front porch. This time, McCullum is at his side, waiting for Reid to muster up the courage to knock. He glances over at him with an impatient look in his eyes before grabbing the knocker and knocking. Immediately, they hear shuffling from within the home before Venus opens the door, looking them over before her face falls into a simply disinterested and annoyed expression.

“Why did I have a feeling that I would see you at my door, Johnny. What is this time? Do you need to speak with Clarence again?” She’s already unchaining the door and opening it. “Oh, and it’s you, McCullum.” Strangely enough, there’s contempt in her voice. In her eyes, McCullum must be nothing more than an enabler for Clarence’s fantastic imagination and obsession for vampires. If only she knew how right Clarence was.

“Yes, Mrs. Crossley. Is your husband home?” Geoffrey glances over her shoulder as though he expects to spot Clarence sitting on the couch. Noticing this, Venus becomes stiff-lipped before dismissively replying, “no, I don’t know where he is. He should be returning home soon.”

“Could we wait inside?” She stares at McCullum, her face openly revealing all disdain for him. Reid notices that it is common for the upper-class, those who live in the West End, to openly and almost passionately reveal their disagreement. He supposes that they have that luxury.

“I’ll make an exception, only because I know you and Clarence go a long way back,” she says, looking Reid in the eye. He remembers her when she was a sweet woman, somebody who managed to put a smile on everyone’s faces. Maybe he remembers her incorrectly. “Come in.” She leads them into the parlour, leaving them to sit on the couch. “I’ve made some tea earlier, there might be some left.” She gestures to a ceramic tea pot on the coffee table before she leaves to go into the kitchen.

Just as McCullum reaches for a cup, Reid clears his throat. “You might not want to drink that…” The Irishman looks up, staring blankly at him before slowly retracting his hand. “Just trust me.”

“You’ve piqued my curiosity but I have the feeling that I might not want to know…” He glances into the kitchen where they see Venus pacing around, tidying or cooking.

“I’ve always felt badly for her,” reveals Reid, dropping his voice into a whisper. “This house is a prison. Clarence has forgotten about her, and now she’s just turned into somebody I can hardly recognize.” He doesn’t know why he feels so bad for her, especially when there are women who struggle far more than her. He thinks about Lottie and Giselle. There’s a momentary bout of shame he feels for not considering their situation.

“What was Clarence like? Before all of this,” he asks, swivelling slightly on the couch to look at him. There’s something surprising about his curiosity, but it seems genuine. He didn’t expect that from him.

“He was different, brighter… He was somebody who followed his heart. His morals and beliefs came before money and everything else. But, he came back from war, changed. So did I, I suppose,” Reid says, smiling wanly before looking down at his lap. If he had a heart, it would be breaking. But, alas, he doesn’t have one, but he feels a swell of sadness within his chest.   
“Everyone changes,” McCullum says. Reid doesn’t know whether or not to find solace and comfort in his words. It’s difficult to ignore them, especially when he’s accustomed to hearing nothing but jeers and snarky comments from him. Still, he knows that everything changes. It doesn’t make things any less heartbreaking. “Our friend is paying us a visit.” Looking up, they notice a silhouette at the window before the door opens to reveal Clarence, whose body sways and hunches with apparent exhaustion. Once he notices them sitting at the couch, he quickly sobers up and stands upright with a baffled expression on his face.

“You must be here to talk to me about the murder…” He rubs his hands over his pale face, revealing red-rimmed eyes. “What could this be about? She’s dead.” He moves over to one of the chairs before collapsing in it, his head hanging as he stares down at his lap. Glowering up, he catches Jonathan’s gaze. It is full of hate and indigence. Why would they come here after her death, only when it is convenient for them?

“We know, and we went to her flat only to find a letter addressed to her. We deciphered it, Clarence. We know it was from you.” Clarence draws in a shaky breath as he looks between them. “We don’t want her death to be in vain. But, in order to do that, we have to catch her killer and we’ll need your help,” Reid says, reaching out to rest a hand on his friend’s knee. He doesn’t know what to expect from such a personal gesture, and he doesn’t know why he did it aside from wanting to comfort and coax cooperativeness from him. There’s a pregnant pause, chock-full of the sort of discomfort that makes Clarence squirm and move his knee slightly.

“Alright. It’s all you had to ask, Johnny.” His sleepless and irritated eyes glance downwards at the wood flooring for a moment before he shakes his head. “It’s just… You told me to give up this investigation, to leave it behind. Now, you’re asking for my help, and I…”

Clarence doesn’t need to elaborate further for Jonathan to understand what he means. His lips purse and he slowly nods, acknowledging that one evening conversation between them. “I haven’t been a good friend, I’m afraid…”

“No, you haven’t. But, I just want to know why you’re asking for my help _now_.”

“Circumstances change - and I’ve missed you, even if time has changed us both,” Jonathan murmurs, watching Clarence’s eyes fall once more to the ground. He glances over at McCullum who gives no indication of what he may be feeling. His lips are parted and his eyes remain blank, seemingly refusing to give Jonathan the reassurance he desperately needs. He feels alone and hated at that precise moment. He doesn’t blame either of them for despising him for his absence.

“Alright, Johnny, I’ll help you and McCullum. I’ll tell you when I find something substantial. I’m getting closer to finding out who it is. I’ve been scouring the West End, and I believe that’s where he’s from.”

“We also know what he looks like - blond, wiry and tall. When we were trying to decipher your letter, some man ran in and took your letter. I think that was the killer, he must have been watching us since we meet at the crime scene.” McCullum says, clearing his throat. Although the tension remains, the conversation segues into what truly matters. All of them are relieved for that, at least.

“Really? Blimey…,” Clarence mutters, blinking in surprise, “why didn’t you tell me when I first walked in?”

“We wanted to see if you’d work with us,” Reid replies. It wouldn’t have made sense to dump a plethora of ground-breaking revelations only for Clarence to decline their offer.

“I see. Well, that helps. Looks like I have work to do,” he says, rubbing the side of his face before standing up. “If you don’t mind, I need to get some sleep.”

They both thank him as they leave the home, glancing back at Clarence who stares back at them, not even making an effort to smile at them.

Outside, they walk aimlessly down the sidewalk without exchanging a word to another. It’s been a long night, that’s for certain. “You’re right about one thing,” Reid begins, slowing his pace to look over at the hunter, “a vampire’s life can be a lonely one.”

Instead of smiling or gloating at his admission, McCullum looks down at the walk, contemplating on his words. “I think I was wrong,” he admits, swallowing before pausing. “I assumed that the strain in your relationship was your own doing - your five-year absence and your transformation. But, I can see now that… there’s no joy in him. His life’s been consumed by his own obsession.” The words come out of his mouth slowly, as though he aches to even say them. “For a moment, I wondered if the Guard is like that… driven by a single thought - the killing of vampires. Or, I wonder if I was ever like him…” He looks over at Reid as though he expects some confirmation of his thoughts or the insistent reassurance that the Guard is nothing like Clarence. Reid wants to reassure him only for McCullum’s sake.

But, that would betraying his beliefs. In fact, the Guard is so much worse than Clarence. Clarence’s obsession only seeks to warn and protect people from vampires or other immortals; it is an understandable goal, albeit naive and unrealistic. On the other hand, the Guard of Priwen is capable of atrocities that makes Reid’s stomach twist. “I cannot answer those questions for you, McCullum. Perhaps it’s necessary to reflect during these times and reevaluate what we believe…”

Geoffrey stands, unmoving and brooding. His cragged face finally softens when he looks at Reid. “We’ll see…,” he says with a humourless smile. “Goodnight, Jonathan. We’ll catch this guy, and we’ll make things right.” He reaches out and stiffly pats his shoulder before he walks away.

  


  



	6. Sunrise

It took more than week until Jonathan heard from Clarence. He suspected that he had changed his mind until Geoffrey reassured him that he revealed his meagre findings with him. Still, he could not help but feel a sense of resentment towards his old friend. Despite his involvement in the investigation, he was being kept out as though he was not worthy of holding any information. Of course, McCullum did little to reassure Jonathan aside from mentioning that Clarence was hesitant to share much information out of the fear that they would follow him or risk him being uncovered. So, it was a silent week that had Jonathan fearing for his friend’s safety in the confines of Elisabeth’s estate. He slept most of the time and spent his nights looking for McCullum. Most nights, he did not find him and suspected he was caught up with the Guard of Priwen. After all, he did run the group and could hardly expect him to be at every hour of the night. So, he enjoyed Elisabeth and Charlotte’s company, wondering why they never asked about the investigation or the murders. They knew about them, of course, but the subject always seemed to remain unspoken.

However, they were not reluctant to discuss any other subject. Death and its trappings had become a part of their lives - Elisabeth and him - as well as Charlotte who could not escape her fascination with the undead. Yet, Elisabeth never told Charlotte about her need of a cure which always struck Jonathan as unwise. Maybe, he wasn’t one to judge. He struggled with honesty, himself.

In the drawing room, Elisabeth is searching the shelves for literature suitable for a read. It’s been like this for a few days: life has been reduced to something slow and mundane but he suspects that Elisabeth has been craving it. Unfortunately, there has been no results from her collaboration with Swansea. Nothing substantial, at least. She plucks out one of Tolstoy’s novels from a shelf before looking over her shoulder to study and observe Jonathan. He catches her gaze and notices her face soften just as she turns around and joins him on the couch.

Together, they contemplate the roaring fire place before she speaks, her voice always soft and prudent with the eloquence of an aristocrat. “I can see that restlessness in your eyes, Jonathan,” she sets the book aside before turning to speak with Jonathan. She’s right. Before, it was so much easier to return to a normal life when there wasn’t much evidence regarding the murders. Now, he’s consumed by the thought.

“I want all of these deaths to end. I just keep asking myself the same question: why do this? Killing and disembowelling innocent people. I think the fact that these murders are the work of a mortal makes it all the more haunting. I’ve always thought that vampires were corrupted in some sort of sense, that they become fascinated by death and its trappings.” He wouldn’t be an except, neither would Elisabeth. He doesn’t enjoy killing, but he doesn’t recoil from the thought, either. Does that make it any better? He isn’t certain…

“McCullum has certainly influenced you, has he?” She doesn’t sound as though she disapproves, but she knows exactly how to disguise her feelings.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He has never agreed with the Guard of Priwen; they’re no better than a gang of thugs. They kill without thought, and their views on vampires are so dangerous that Jonathan fears for Charlotte’s safety.

“It’s difficult,” she begins, holding his arm while her thumb strokes his upper arm. “It’s always been difficult, just imagine how much self-loathing I’ve had for centuries.” This time, she doesn’t keep herself from disguising her emotions. Her eyes drop down to her lap before she slowly looks upwards. “Jonathan… Swansea’s progress has been stagnant. We’re wasting time here, I’m afraid. But, we’ll need to stay until you solve these murders and until Charlotte’s prepared to live on her own.”

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever find him.” Whatever clues he’s found seem so insignificant compared to the absolute lack of information they have. “I’m just waiting for Clarence.” In the silence of the room, he watches the flames inside the fireplace, moving sporadically as its wisps flutter about. He can’t help but feel conflicted about leaving; weeks ago, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to leave London. However, he doesn’t feel so fondly about leaving Clarence and McCullum in harm’s way, even if his relationships with both of them are strained and almost antagonistic.

“Whatever you do, Jonathan,” she says, opening the book, “try to be discrete. I don’t want to lose you.” He scrutinizes her face, but her eyes remain on a page. Mysterious as always.

* * *

Near the docks, he walks around, hoping to run into something that coincides with the investigation. Perhaps he’ll find Clarence or another body; both of these events seem so unlikely that Jonathan can’t help but feel foolish as he walks along the piers. Since the epidemic has ended, the streets are empty. He feels lonely, knowing that there is not another soul awake. Between the narrow space between two rows of buildings, he notices a faint figure up in the distance. It moves to and fro, searching for something until it catches Jonathan in its sights. A young man is running towards Jonathan, his clothes tattered and stained.

“You - leech - McCullum is looking for you,” he shouts, slowing when he’s close enough.

“Is he now? Why is that?” Despite the peaceful nature of the man, knowing that he’s part of the Guard of Priwen is enough to rouse contempt. Of course, he has the audacity to call Reid a leech even if he’s attempting to persuade him to follow him. Nobody ever said the Guard of Priwen was an intelligent group, Reid inwardly gloats.

“That man, the one’s helping him. Crossely, or somethin’… He found something and he’s asked to meet McCullum and you at one of the warehouses.” Reid’s posture changes and he feels an enormous sense of dread. Although he is no clairvoyant, he knows that the investigation is no longer what it used to be. The stakes are higher than before, especially since the murderer is aware of their progress and their attempts to discover his identity.

“Very well. Take me to McCullum.” The man glances him over with a look of thinly veiled disdain before jogging off, prompting Reid to follow him.

* * *

As they reach the dock’s warehouses, they slow to a walk. There is a large group of members of the Guard, led by McCullum who looks up to watch Reid’s arrival. Of course, Reid’s protection is granted by McCullum who leads the group; but, the vampire finds the charged looks in their stares disconcerting. He has to remind himself that he will be safe, provided that McCullum stays with him. He steps right next to Geoffrey who turns his head and watches him with a determined look in his pale eyes. “Clarence had a letter hand-delivered to our hideout.” He looks down, heaving a sigh before taking out a cigarette from a case. “He says he has very important information, but that we would have to meet somewhere discreet. He’s in one of the warehouses - that is where we’re supposed to meet him.”

“Discreet? So, you’ve decided to lead an army to our supposedly secret rendezvous?”

Instead of his usual frowning, he scoffs and smirks at Reid’s comment. “It isn’t ideal. But, it’s better this way. To ensure all of our safety.”

One of the members barks at McCullum, “McCullum, we’re wasting precious time. We can’t answer all of the leech’s question, let’s go.” Everyone falls silence and watches McCullum who nods in agreement before walking to the head of the group. It is about ten men or so; not an enormous group, but inconspicuous and loud. Reid fears that Clarence will rush off if he feels like the situation and his discretion has been compromised. They move through two warehouses without a single word exchanged between any of them. The creaking sound of the hooks hanging overhead and the distant sound of canines barking fill Jonathan with dread. He can hardly see McCullum past the sea of shoulders and heads that block his view.

When they storm the third warehouse, they see a single body on the ground. Its shape and the clothes are familiar; but, it doesn’t take Reid more than a few seconds before he rips his way out of the crowd and launches himself onto the ground near Clarence’s body. His shirt is torn open, revealing a plethora of bullet holes - his shoulder, his side, his stomach… Onto the floor, blood pools and clumps dirt together; it looks black, almost.

“Clarence, can you hear me? Please, no, no, no… Not this, don’t do this…” He scoops his friend into his arms, shaking him slightly, pleading for his survival. He sees his closed eyes slowly open, revealing a vacant stare as all the life pours out of them. He’s fading away, slowly… “Clarence, please!” His own weak and desperate cries echo off the warehouse walls, returning to him only to remind him of how powerless and pathetic he is, watching his friend die.

“Johnny,” he forces out, the words come out as two choppy syllables, filled with pain. It’s all his friend says; afterwards, he simply stares at him with his glassy-eyed stare. He’s too weak to say anything else, until he whispers right by his ear. “Freddy… Osborne…” Then, his head lolls back against the crook of Jonathan’s arm, watching him during the last few moments of his life. Quickly, Jonathan lays him down before he pulls a knife from his coat before slicing his wrist. His blood comes gliding down his arm viscous and dark. He feels an immense guilt over what he will have to do, but he simply cannot allow Clarence to die.

McCullum steps forward from the group and grabs Jonathan’s wrist, stopping him from moving back to Clarence. “No, no, Reid. I cannot allow you to do this!” Reid tries to pull his hand away and McCullum aims a gun towards his face. Looking down the shiny barrel, Reid feels nothing more than pure hatred for somebody he considered a friend of some sort. “You will not turn him into something that he’s sworn to destroy, I won’t let you.”

“He’ll die! You have to let me do something, please, Geoffrey!” McCullum looks over his shoulder at his group who simply watch their exchange with stunned faces. How did they feel, knowing that Reid didn’t just trust McCullum, but considered him a friend with whom he could refer to on a first-name basis? The Irishman’s face flushes before he looks over at Clarence whose chest barely moves with his breaths.

“I’ll kill you, McCullum, I mean it.” This time, he knows he means it. He doesn’t care if there are several other men; he’ll take them with him if that’s what it takes. Geoffrey suddenly lets go of his wrist and the action is so unexpected that Reid stares at him in bewilderment before he rushes over to Clarence. Did he really give him the chance to save his friend, even if it goes against his ideals?

But, when he touches Clarence, there is no movement. Even with his vampire’s senses, he sees no beating heart nor does he see the system of veins and arteries running through his body like wires. There’s nothing, but a black space where Clarence used to be. That was precisely when McCullum let go. His body rocks forward until his head falls upon his stomach torn open with bullets. A cry of anguish rips from him; the sound any animal makes as it mourns. It’s been years since he’s cried; even during the war, he managed to keep his composure. Years’ worth of pain pours out of him in the form of sobs and tears, Clarence, the catalyst. A warm, trembling hand touches his upper back before Jonathan snaps.

“Don’t you dare touch me. You let him die. You’re despicable.” His mother, his sister, his father, and now Clarence; life seems to find pleasure from filling his life with misfortunes.

McCullum obliges and drops his hand to his side. “You know how difficult it is to be a vampire. You wouldn’t want him to have your life.”

“I never thought that.”

“You would, in time. I’m only saving you the heartache, Jonathan,” he murmurs before he clears his throat. “What did he say?”

“Freddy Osbourne…” Saying the words aloud, it sounds all so meaningless. His last words, and they’re completely devoid of any connection to the life he lead. “I tried to convince him to not go down this path, I really did.” He wipes a tear away, but another one falls to replace it. There will never be enough tears shed. “I pleaded with you to get him to reconsider. But, you… you use people like tools if it promotes your agenda.” He lets go of Clarence’s body, watching it tumble off his lap and onto the ground. Standing up, he faces McCullum and hopes he notices the bloodlust in his eyes. What he wants to see more than anything is fear in his eyes; something he has never seen before.

“You can’t blame me for that! If you didn’t ask question, maybe we would’ve gotten here on time.”

He can hardly believe he’s being blamed for Clarence’s death. He supposes it’s only natural that McCullum pin the blame on anyone that isn’t him and anyone who isn’t human. At that moment, his world is swallowed by instinct and hatred. He throws himself at McCullum, pinning him onto the ground as his hands wrap around his throat, his fingers press against the windpipe and feels it cave in under his grip. He watches McCullum’s face flush red and his mouth gape open as he gasps for air. It’s only when he realizes what he’s actually doing does he stop and get off. He stares down at McCullum, gasping for air as he rolls around on the ground. He almost killed him.

Suddenly, he feels a shot of pain in his chest. Looking down, he sees a blood stain flower and spread in his white shirt, dispersing like water. He looks at the group where one man stands with his gun draw, a plume of smoke rising from its barrel. It only takes eye contact for all of the men to charge for Reid. Eight to one is too much for Reid to handle, especially when they have on him on the ground as they pummel his face with the back of their guns and the soles of their boots. They break his nose and blood from his nostrils pool and get into his eyes and his mouth. He cannot see or scream, and all he can do is feel every strike that hits him. It’s a never-ending cycle of pain, but Reid cannot muster any will to fight against it. Dying next to an old-friend would not be the worst way to go, even if he’s leaving Elisabeth and Charlotte by themselves. He’s surprised with himself when he thinks about how apologetic he is towards McCullum; he acted out, but he never wanted to kill him.

They grip his hair and drag him towards the open entrance where the early morning awaits him. The sky is the colour of bandages, where the peak of a red sun hides behind London’s buildings. Suddenly, the constant hitting and striking stops and he feels the cool air hit all of his open wounds and cuts. Blinking through his bleary red-eyed vision, he sees McCullum yelling and pulling at their sleeves.   
“Leave him. Let’s go. It’s over.” He blinks, waiting for him to come to his side and drag him back into the warehouse. Instead, he looks at him and glances back at his men who scrutinize him, anticipating his next actions. The man opens his mouth, almost to say something, but he stops short of doing so and turns around and heads for the entrance whence they came. Once they’re gone, Reid simply lies in a cradle of pain while the sun slowly burns the top of his scalp. It’s like burning one’s finger against the stove - overstimulating as it drowns all other sensation. It’s just pain, both internal and external. He glances over at Clarence’s lifeless vessel; a waste of life and it’s all his fault. He watches the sunrise before slipping into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, this is definitely not the last chapter.


	7. No Promises

The sensation of cool water hitting his closed eyelids and mouth brings him into consciousness. The cold water feels deliciously invigorating against his face, and it’s all he can think of as he blinks his eyes open. Above him, a blurred figure pulls its hand away as it notices that he’s now awake.

“Lottie, that’s enough.” It’s a man’s voice, distant as it echoes off the walls of whatever space he’s confined in. His eyes adjust and the figure sharpens into Lottie Paxton who stares down at Jonathan while clutching a wet cloth which drips with water. She looks over her shoulder before stepping aside for Sean Hampton. The man walks closer to him, his cross swinging from his neck. He looks the same as before; albeit pale and slightly blemished. However, he doesn’t smile at the sight of Jonathan. He is completely devoid of joy that Jonathan recoils slightly only to realize that he’s lying on a bare mattress. Looking around, he recognizes the interior of the shelter although its quality has improved since the epidemic. “Easy, Reid. You’re at the shelter,” he reaches out and lays a hand against his arm.

“I…” It doesn’t take Jonathan long to recall what he thought would be his death. “I thought I died.” He remember the sharp pain of the rising sun burning into his face. Then, his heart sinks when he thinks of McCullum. He left him for dead. “What happened?”

“Somebody from the shelter heard yelling. Some woman happened upon you and retrieved me,” Sean speaks as he seats himself at the end of the bed. He looks morose before glancing upwards at Lottie, “can you give us a moment?” She nods before forcing a faint smile at Reid, waving at him before leaving the room. Sean waits for her to leave before quietly speaking, “they also found Clarence Crossely. He’s popular in these parts. He’s gotten just as much notoriety as Ichabod Throgmorton.” He sighs softly and looks down at the ground, his eyes closed as though he is deep in thought. Reid wonders if he’s praying for Crossely’s sake. For a moment, Reid wishes that he believed in some higher power just so he could think that Clarence crossed over to the afterlife. “The police are there now. They just think it’s gang related - Wet Boot Boys.”

“It’s… It’s all my fault…” He pulls his knees to his chest and, suddenly, he feels so vulnerable and pathetic. “I just don’t understand why McCullum let him die… why he let me die.”

Sean looks at him, his eyes not revealing his surprise at his collaboration with McCullum. “He’s a man plagued by his values. Years ago, he came to see me - young and angry. He was in a crisis of faith and he told me that God put him on a particular path, an arduous path.”

With a wan smile, Reid nods slowly. “That sounds like him. I just… I know he couldn’t abandon his group or his values. But, to leave me to die… I don’t know whether it was an act of cowardice or whether he really did wish me dead.” It shouldn’t bother him so much, but he had even come to consider the man something of a friend. Maybe it was one-sided. Revisiting the night leaves a terrible taste in his mouth, so he tries to think of other things. “Where’s Elisabeth?”

“Ms. Ashbury? She said she’d come this evening. I went to tell her but I told her that you needed to recover. You were nothing but meat and skin when we found you. The Lord’s intervention does have impeccable timing.”

He looks at Sean running the pad of his thumb over his rosary beads. “Are you praying for me, Father?” There’s a strained hint of humour to his words which Sean reacts with a blank-face.

“No, I’m praying for Clarence… and for McCullum, and that he might find forgiveness.”

* * *

He has become quite comfortable with the confines of Elisabeth’s home. He’s become a recluse since Clarence’s death and McCullum’s betrayal. In the evening, he wakes up only for his heart to plummet as soon as he realizes that Clarence is still dead and McCullum is still a traitor. Such awakenings were not unfamiliar as he remembers waking up feeling bitter and depressed when he learnt that his father had died or when Mary had died. It’s awful; self-pity and hopelessness all wrapped into one intangible mix of feelings. He wishes he weren’t feeling so sorry for himself.

Charlotte and Elisabeth descend from the staircase, looking at Reid lounging on the couch. They exchange looks, that subtle exchange of thoughts without needing to say a single word. Neither of them have spoken to him about the recluse life he’s chosen for himself. Strangely enough, Elisabeth has not offered any words of reassurance. She’s typically quick to comfort him, but she must know what he’s going through. He’s inconsolable; there simply wouldn’t be any point in trying to reach him. Charlotte walks over to the couch and sits beside him before quietly observing him with a wan smile.

“It must be good that vampires don’t have to worry about cutting their hair, you’d have quite the scraggly beard by now.” Her mother quietly chastises her, but Reid responds with a faint smile. In her own way, she’s trying to tell him that enough time has passed. Her motives are admirable, but he doesn’t find anything significant in her words. He isn’t ready, not yet.

“Jonathan, Charlotte and I are going for a walk in the park. We’re just going to get some air. You should come.” She’s wringing her hands together nervously, hoping that he finds reason.

“I… I’ll go for a walk on my own.” She looks at him with her scrutinizing eyes before she finally nods.

* * *

The streets feel lonelier than they usually do. It’s strange how much more palpable his loneliness is; has he been ignoring it all this time? No, maybe he just didn’t feel lonely. It’s just that he’s lost nearly everyone after neglecting them for so long. Quick bouts of guilt overtake him. Clarence’s death was partially his fault, although McCullum could have allowed him to save him. He reaches the cemetery gates and peers inside to see the many hills adorned with graves, like rows of teeth. His legs stride through rolling fog as he walks towards the highest tier of the cemetery.

He sees Mary’s grave and it kills him to know that she isn’t there. It’s just an empty grave, one that wouldn’t give anybody else any second thought. In the distance, he sees light cut through the thick fog. Upon moving closer, he notes that the light is coming from a lantern right near a grave. The wooden cross plunged into the soil near the grave has a war service medal draped on one of the arms. There’s no telling if this is Clarence’s grave; it could be anyone’s. Yet, Jonathan drops to his knees and hangs his head. There’s no way of escaping his guilt - he’d be a fool to try. Reid simply sits by the grave, staring at the sky, choking with London’s smog.

When he sees McCullum, he’s barely surprised. He doesn’t think he can muster the energy to even speak to him. He simply lifts his head to look at him as he carries roses over to the grave.

“Jonathan…” He runs his hand over his own mouth, his eyes blinking with confusion. “I… You’re not dead. I… I am glad. I grieved your death, actually.” He sets the roses upon the grave’s mound of dirt before sitting next to Reid. He’s quiet and provides no further words, waiting for Jonathan to say something. But, Reid doesn’t.

“There are no words to express the guilt I feel… I haven’t been able to sleep, thinking that you were dead. I don’t know, leaving you there was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made-“

“Why did you let Clarence die, McCullum…?” He turns his head, watching Geoffrey’s face contort into a frown. He looks at the parallel lines between his furrowed brows which only crease harder as he struggles to find words.

“He wouldn’t have wanted to live that way, Jonathan…”

“I’m not surprised you would say that. It’s in your code. The code you follow; the one that determines everything you do and justifies every awful thing you do.” His body turns away from the Irishman, avoiding his complex facial expression. The wounded look on his face was something Reid would have enjoyed a very long time ago. He can’t say the same, now.

“It wasn’t about any code. It wasn’t about what I believed in. It was about mercy. Tell me, Jonathan, is that something you would have wanted for him?”

He thinks hard about it. Edgar was eager enough to become his progeny, but, he was living with the consequences with that particular choice. Clarence, on the other hand, was somebody who pledged his life to stopping Reid’s kind. What would he think upon waking up as an immortal with a still heart and frozen skin? But, he could’ve learned to accept it… right?

“I don’t know. I can’t answer that,” he murmurs as he slowly turns to look at McCullum. There’s no smugness on his face, nothing that indicates any gloating on his part. “What about me…? You were quick to drop everything we worked towards, but you just let me die. You didn’t even try to stop them.”

“No… I didn’t…” He’s waiting for him to explain himself, but he simply sits there with a sordid expression on his face, as if it makes up for everything he’s done. “I’m their leader, Reid. They have their expectations for me, and I didn’t know how they would react if I protected you - a vampire. It would mean that I put my own interests before the Guard of Priwen’s.”

There’s a flash of heat running through his body but his heart feels icy and cold. Those words hurt more than that entire hour where Reid laid in the sweltering sunlight, his skin blistering and peeling. But, that is true for almost everything - emotional pain trumps all physical pain. He stands up and stares down at Geoffrey who looks upwards, the whites of his eyes shining in the moonlight. There’s absolute terror on his face, and that’s when Reid realizes that he’s sporting a glare.

“Are you going to kill me, Reid?”

He contemplates the decision for a moment; his minds runs over the possibilities and the consequences of his actions. Killing him would mean justice for Clarence, although he knows that Clarence would not approve of murdering McCullum nor would he approve of Reid’s affiliation - if vampirism could be deemed as such. But, he knows already that he couldn’t kill McCullum, not after all that they’ve been through. Looking down at the bricks and mortar near his feet, he hears a scoff coming from him. It isn’t surprising that he’s risking safety and peace for sentimentality. It’s so like him. He doubts Elisabeth would be so hesitant, but she’s lived a lot longer than he has. In other words, she’s jaded.

“No, I’m not going to kill you.” The man’s face changes, but he can’t decipher the meaning from his expression. He seems almost saddened, however Reid cannot understand why. “I won’t look for you, not anymore. I just…” He looks back at Clarence’s grave and feels a pang of nausea hit his stomach. “I just want you to promise me something.”

“…What’s that?” He slowly stands up, his eyes not parting from Reid. He wishes that he would trust him enough to look away. Despite what he’s said, McCullum doesn’t believe him when he promises not to kill him.

“Find Freddy Osbourne. Too many people have died, without comfort and dignity. I need to know that the rest of London can sleep safely knowing that there isn’t some bogeyman lurking about.” For Jonathan, this is the end of his investigation, although he knows it ended when Clarence’s heart stopped beating.

“For what it’s worth… I wish I hadn’t left you. I wish we could find him together. I’m not naive, however, we’ve violated each other’s trust.”

“You violated my trust, I did nothing to yours. But, you’re right. There’s no coming back from here.” McCullum brushes his hands against his coat before stuffing them into his pockets while he glowers upwards at Reid. There’s indigence in his eyes, but his hateful glare falters before he just looks at the vampire. Reid’s never met anybody as temperamental as Geoffrey. “Be careful. You have enough information to change things. But, you’re reckless. Promise me you’ll look after yourself.” Reid hates pleading to McCullum, especially when he’s begging him to stay safe. He recognizes that his pleas go beyond a mere concern for the investigation, but for McCullum’s wellbeing.

Geoffrey shrugs and smiles morosely. “I can’t promise that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to be more consistent with updates. Finals are kicking my ass, but I have my muse back, at least.


	8. Precipice

Standing in front of Freddy Osbourne’s estate, Reid is struck with an immense wave of anxiety. It feels as though he’s standing on the precipice of change; he’s looking into a dark cave but he doesn’t know what he’ll find in the murky shadows. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to deal with it all if he hadn’t strayed away from McCullum’s company. But, he knows that things cannot return to the way they were, not ever. He doesn’t intend on knocking and discovering who the murderer is. He’s ill prepared and he recalls handing the burden to Geoffrey.

The front door opens suddenly before a wizened face peers out. He catches the staring face watching him. His limbs go heavy and he feels a jerk of discomfort in his belly. Reid glances over his shoulder at the road behind him. It would be so easy to escape or walk away, but the pale hazy eyes stare until the door opens completely to reveal an old man. With his gnarled spine and weak gait, he knows that it must be Freddy’s father or the estate’s servant.

“Can I help you?” he descends the porch steps, his colourless eyebrows furrowing. Reid takes a step back, his mouth opening to emit some excuse.

“No, no… I’m sorry, Sir. I was just… walking. I guess I was observing your home. Are you its owner?” The man stares at Reid, scrutinizing him. His gaze is oddly chilling, like he’s pulling an attempt to stare right into his soul. Reid only hopes he doesn’t catch onto his lie.

The man’s lips pull into a smile that doesn’t fit his face. His teeth show and glisten in the moonlight along with his eyes that refuse to part from Reid. “No, I’m a caretaker, that’s all. But, you’re here for something, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Intuition. I’m afraid my master is out. If you intended to speak with him, you’ll have to wait. Unless, you want to go inside and wait for him.” Reid swallows, but his saliva feels thick in his throat. He closes his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to think hard on his decision. He cannot let impulse control his actions; he’s already let it control his life. Impulsiveness… was that the word for it? He opens his eyes and stares at the man, smiling eerily at Jonathan.

 _You. You might not have killed Clarence. But you might as well have hammered the last nail in his coffin,_ he thinks to himself. He is going to do whatever it takes to avenge Clarence, even if it means risking his safety by walking into the lion’s den and waiting for a murderer. “Yes,” he finally says, mustering up a polite smile. “Let’s wait for him to return.”

For a fragment of a second, he sees the man’s smile falter. Then, he walks into the house and gestures for Reid to follow him.

* * *

He did not know what he expected the interior of the estate to look like. He half-expected to find it infested with cobwebs with rats scurrying about. Freddy Osbourne lives in comfort, and it is evident that money is not any concern. On the wall, there are the skulls of animals, both native to England and exotic. The bleached skull of a bear stares down at him as he walks through the hall and into the parlour room.

“He hunts a lot, evidently,” he thinks aloud. The living room is chock-full of taxidermized animals - beavers, birds, boar…

“Yes, he’s always been fascinated with hunting.” The man says before sitting down on one of the chairs. He looks around the room, smiling faintly as though he is silently admiring his master’s brutal skill. “Ever since he was a lad, too… His father used to take him hunting.”

“It’s a strange passion to have.” The lifeless eyes of the stuffed animals haunt him; it appears that Osbourne has promoted to the killing and harvesting of humans. It does make sense, though.

“Strange, you say? What makes you think that?” He sits up slightly and crosses his leg over the other. He leans forward, staring at Reid before asking him, “do you believe in natural selection?”

“I do. I… have a scientific mind. But, we are no longer in the Palaeolithic era, are we? We are progressing, and we have moved past the need for that mindset. We don’t have to constantly look over our shoulders for leopards.”

“Have we? Man is just as violent…The epidemic proved just as much - people looting and killing only because the chaotic state of the world allowed them to.” Reid looks down, recalling the many flats he had visited - overturned and robbed. Man is violent, yes… But, mankind has so much potential. It’s people like Osbourne that use chaos as an excuse to act out their twisted and violent fantasies.

“When do you think he’ll be returning?” He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose before he glances towards the front entrance. He dreads the moment when Freddy will walk through the door only to find Reid sitting in his parlour. But, he knows he’ll relish the moment when Freddy’s eyes die as he realizes that Reid has the upper hand.

“I’m not so certain. He intended to visit somebody. Some man visited him in the morning - some brute. He was most… impolite and he threw some callous insults towards my master. We forced him to leave.” Reid’s blood suddenly runs cold and he thinks about McCullum, whom he had pleaded with to find and stop Osbourne. Does he know that he’s being hunted? He can imagine the killer stalking the shadows and McCullum walking alone, unaware of the threat that looms over him.

“I… need to leave.” Reid stands up only to feel a disorientating rush of adrenaline course through his veins. The man sits up slightly, his already-thin lips pursing while he scrutinizes Jonathan.

“You’re leaving…? Any particular reason for that… Dr. Jonathan Reid?” He stops and stares at the old man who remains expressionless. How foolish was he to think that he had the upper hand. McCullum and him had been searching and rifling through a trail of corpses; they knew that they were being watched. The deaths of Estelle and Clarence proved that their actions were being scrutinized and that somebody did not appreciate their investigation. But, hearing his own name makes him realize that they were never untouchable. Osbourne was simply biding his time, waiting for the best opportunity. The old man’s calloused and dry hand slips into his coat before pulling out a revolver which he aims for Jonathan’s head.

“This is where it ends for you,” says he, his thumb pushing the gun’s hammer. “I promise that he’ll give Mrs. Ashbury and Charlotte’s dignified deaths.” Without warning, he fires a shot into Jonathan’s chest. It stings, but a ball of rage forms in his chest and he pounces onto the old man. He feels the gun’s cold barrel against his chest which he fires again. His hands tear the gun from him which proves easy considering the man’s age and frailness. He takes a few steps back, staggering as his hand clutches at his open wounds that he can feel slowly tightening and healing.

“Don’t kill me,” he pleads, holding his hands upwards and surrendering. Jonathan scoffs at his request and checks the chamber. Two more shots. “Please, I’ll tell you where he said he was going.”

“Tell me then. You have three seconds.” He rests his finger on the trigger and watches as the fear grows in the servant’s eyes.

His mouth falls open and he struggles for a moment before he speaks. “Don’t kill me. We found out where he lives. There’s a leak in the Guard. He lives in Whitechapel, near the church.”

It’s strange to think that Geoffrey was so accessible. His address isn’t exactly remote, yet he has never witnessed McCullum anywhere near Whitechapel. It’s just another part of the multitude of secrets they keep from each other. “There’s a leak. Do you know who it is?”

“No, sir, I don’t… So, how about it? Will you let me go? Please?” For a moment, Jonathan lowers his gun only for the brief image of Clarence to fill his mind. No, he cannot let this man go unpunished.

“This is for Clarence and all the other people your master has slaughtered.” He fires at the man’s legs twice, deliberately missing any vital organs. He supposes that crippling him is a just enough punishment. It may even be considered generous considering the circumstances.

* * *

The distance between Osbourne’s estate and Whitechapel feels longer than it should, even when he’s running and teleporting sporadically to cover more ground. Still, he feels as though he’s hardly moving and that he won’t be able to reach McCullum in time. Once he reaches Whitechapel, he runs towards the church’s graveyard.

He spots McCullum walking alone, unharmed. “McCullum!” The Irishman looks over his shoulder and stops, his mouth opening slightly as Reid jogs over to him. “You need to get out of here. He’s looking for you, and he knows where you live.”

“What happened?” He pulls out a pistol from his coat. It’s relief that he trusts Reid enough to take the situation seriously and arm himself.

“I went to the estate. His servant told me that Freddy was on his way to kill you… and… he’s going for Elisabeth next.” Getting rid of Geoffrey is likely the more pressing matter; but, if Freddy doesn’t reveal himself, he knows he’ll have to reach Elisabeth before any harm comes to her or her daughter. He can only imagine her fury once she realizes that he’s put her daughter’s life in harm’s way.

“All this time… I thought we were untouchable.” He runs a calloused hand over his face. Reid knows exactly what he’s feeling: exasperation… and fear, maybe. He turns his head and spots a figure in the adjacent alleyway - standing there and observing their conversation. McCullum follows his gaze before freezing while a shaky breath escapes his parted lips. “We finish this, Reid. Now.” Before Reid can protest or respond, he breaks into a run. The figure staggers backward before running away from McCullum. He joins McCullum and runs into the narrow alleyway, avoiding broken bottles and rubbish strewn across the ground.

The figure flees from them, his body slipping through a narrow gate before he turns around to push it closed. Reid knows that they can’t lose him another time. He lets out a strangled shout - unfiltered frustration. His heart feels like it’s aflame as do the soles of his feet which burn as he runs up to the gate. He glances over at McCullum who kicks the gate open before throwing himself forward. Reid joins him and watches as his own arm reaches out to grab the man’s tailcoat. But, he just slips away just as a loud and deafening sound fills Reid’s ears. The man crumples beneath them, his body falling onto the concrete. Beside him, Geoffrey carries his pistol as a plume of smoke slips from the barrel. Osbourne stands up, his shirt shining with the slickness of his own blood. He glances down as he draws in panicked breaths. He grits his teeth and stares at Reid before he goes to tackle him.

Sitting on top of his chest, Freddy pulls out a weapon, glinting even in the dimness of the alley. His hands go to strive the knife through his chest which Reid resists by grabbing onto his wrists and mustering the strength to push the sharp blade away. Suddenly, the weight on his body lessons as Freddy grabs at his throat while his eyes bulge. It’s only when he scrambles to get up that he realizes that there’s a chain that McCullum is holding onto. Osbourne claws at his throat like a desperate animal in a cage; his watery blue eyes bulge while he struggles for air. Then, he drives an elbow against McCullum’s gut, providing him the means of escaping. Freddy scrambles to grab the dropped knife from the pavement and manages to do so, beating Reid.

Unthinking, Reid aims his ‘borrowed’ revolver at Freddy’s foot and shoots. He screams in pain but ignores the wound. He throws himself against McCullum, forcing them both onto the ground before stabbing him. Like a maniac, Osbourne stabs McCullum again and again.

“You fucker!” A loud sound fills his ears and he watches Freddy slump and his head hang. His body falls like a deadweight, landing right next to an immobile McCullum. It’s only when he sees a shining puddle pool around his head does he realize what he’s done. He looks down at his own hand, gripping the revolver that he fired. He didn’t even know he was doing it. He runs to McCullum’s side and looks for the knife’s entry wounds. He must’ve been squirming enough to keep the knife from entering his chest or belly. “McCullum, get up,” he urges. He slides a hand beneath the man’s upper body and helps him sit up.

“Fuck… that hurts,” he hisses, wincing. His hand reaches upwards to gingerly touch the wounds, prompting him to shake his head and grimace.

“You’re hurt…”

“As I’m well aware. I advise you search Osbourne’s pockets.” Reid sighs and pulls away his hands before rifling through the corpse’s pockets. He fingers mundane objects - a lighter, cigarette, keys - until he feels the bumpiness of paper. From the corpse’s coat, he retrieves a folded paper.

“Geoffrey, look…” He hardly notices himself chewing on the inside of cheek until the coppery taste of blood hits his tongue. When he reads the letter’s contents, he drops the paper and covers his mouth. The weak Irishman looks up and blinks. Before he can speak, Reid slides the paper across the short space between them. He watches as the man’s trembling fingers grasp the paper. “All this time… we were looking for the wrong person.”

“These are receipts…,” McCullum murmurs before reading aloud, “liver… four thousand pounds. Heart… six thousand pounds. Jesus… he was harvesting these poor people.”

“Look at the bottom of the letter,” he urged. “‘Signed by Edgar Swansea’.” Geoffrey squints and reads the letter’s signature before looking up. For a brief second, all he sees is McCullum’s dumbfounded expression before it contorts with blind anger.

“No… He was doing this under our noses this entire time. Why do you think he did this? Paying somebody for organs.”

“We can discuss this later. You must be in a lot of pain.” For Reid, speculating Swansea’s motivations is of utmost importance; still, watching McCullum drag in ragged breaths and struggling to speak is cause for concern. He rushes over and props him up against the wall. His head nears Geoffrey’s torso to examine the number of stabs in his skin. He notices the man’s chest rise as he holds his breath. He’s uncomfortable and Reid knows exactly why - he’s a vampire. “Don’t hold your breath.” Surprisingly, he obeys and lets out a slow and wheezy exhale.

“It stings…,” Geoffrey admits and glances down at his own chest.

“I’m sure it does. But, I have a feeling you’ll live. They’re not as deep as I feared and nowhere near your organs.” He scoops an arm underneath the man before hoisting him over his shoulder.

* * *

McCullum’s apartment brings back memories of that dreadful night when he had transformed into a vampire. Killing his dear Mary, running from the Guard and avoiding sunlight only to end up in a hole of a flat. A botched attempt to kill himself; he remembers that last part all too well, along with the disappointment that filled him upon waking up. He looks around the apartment, noticing its age and shabbiness. The wallpaper peels and curls onto itself as it exposes pale brown panelling. The air is thick and stale with the lingering scent of cigarettes. He can imagine McCullum chain-smoking as he sits on his tatty sofa. There’s a swell of pity that fills him when he thinks about Geoffrey living in these conditions.

He shambles across the apartment, still clutching onto McCullum’s cumbersome body until they reach the sofa which he drops him onto. With haste, Reid removes his coat and pushes the blood-stained sleeves of his shirt up his forearms. “A cigarette would do me some good,” Geoffrey grumbles.

“I imagine it would,” Reid smirks before removing Geoffrey’s shirt. His chest is pale with tufts of hair covering its surface; however, the bullet holes evoke a sigh from Reid who leans to grab McCullum’s shirt. In order to have some sort of makeshift gauze, he tears his shirt into strips that he can wrap around the man’s chest and cover his wounds.

“I never thought I’d be giving you medical aid,” he admits. He props McCullum up and wraps his torso with the mangled pieces of his shirt. A corner of McCullum’s lips twitches upwards.

“If you were doing this a month ago… I would’ve shot you.” As Reid pulls his hands away, he sinks into his sofa and stares at the ceiling, the whites of his eyes reflecting light.

“Not anymore though?”

“No… I don’t know. I suppose I’ve come to consider you as a friend. It’s strange to hear myself saying it.” He covers his face with his large and square hands while he heaves a sigh. Johnathan doesn’t say anything as he’s wiping the blood off his hands. “Granted, friends don’t leave each other for dead, do they?”

“You’ve made more than your share of mistakes.” He stands up and walks over to the kitchen - a bare room with nothing more than a stove and a larder. As he goes to toss the rest of his shirt in a bin, he notices a photograph on the wall. The picture is yellowed with age with thick creases dividing it from wear and tear. Though its subject is hardly distinguishable - nothing more than grainy footage - he recognizes a man. When he returns to the living room, McCullum is still hunched over with his face buried in his hands. “That photograph in the kitchen. Who is that?”

“Carl Eldritch - the man who took me in…” His hands drop and Reid is struck by the wounded look on his face. “He died at the hands of your kind…” He sucks his lower lip before shaking his head. “I apologize… I know that you’re different than the rest of them.”

Jonathan joins him on the couch and contemplates the letter they recovered. They remain silent as Jonathan glances over at Geoffrey. The man has no idea how Swansea came to be a vampire. If only he knew that he was responsible… But, it’s a secret Reid intends to keep; for both of their sakes and the sake of their ‘friendship’. But, there is one detail that he needs to reveal…

“I know what he’s doing with the organs.”

“You do?”

“I was aware that he was conducting experiments on skals… He would’ve required healthy organs and those of skals for comparison. That must explain one of the victim’s personality change - Franz. His neighbour, Estelle, she said he changed. So, he was paying Freddy to kill victims and harvest their organs.”

The Irishman’s jaw clenches and he flares his nostrils. “But… why? And you… you knew that he was doing experiments. What was he trying to prove?”

“I don’t know,” he lies, “but I assumed that he was collecting the corpses of already deceased skals. I never thought he was actively searching for those who had been bitten nor did I think he was killing humans.”

He can only hope that McCullum doesn’t discover Elisabeth’s involvement. She has to know, though. She needs to know the reality of Swansea’s experiments; yet, there’s an inkling of fear within him. What if she knows? No, he knows that she would not allow such atrocities to exist. She is no longer the woman she used to be. Of that, he is certain.

“I need to leave. We should prepare to take Swansea down. We’ll meet tomorrow evening and we’ll confront him.”

“I suspect that he’ll be ready if he doesn’t receive word from the man we just killed,” Geoffrey deadpans. Reid nods, acknowledging this. Swansea knows that they were investigating the murders. He knows how close they are; this proves to be a disadvantage for them, however. He’ll be ready for them. All this time, he was hand-feeding Osbourne information about them… He told a murderer about Elisabeth and Charlotte. He needs to get to them.

When he gets up to leave, he feels a pressure around his wrist. Looking down, Jonathan sees his wrist being gripped by McCullum’s square and calloused hand. “What are you doing? Do you intend on getting yourself killed? The sun’s about to rise. You should stay here and plan.” There is truth to McCullum’s words. They cannot blunder their only opportunity. Swansea is no ordinary mortal and judging by his nature and tendency to crave power, he’s likely embraced without concern for his humanity. It’s going to be a difficult fight, even with both he and McCullum collaborating together.

“I’ll risk it. There’s some things I have to do.” Slowly, Geoffrey lets go of his wrist and allows Reid to step away. “But, we’ll see each other soon. Meet me near Poplar street and bring whatever arsenal you possess. But, I don’t the Guard to be involved in this, do you understand?”

A flash of indigence spreads on the Irishman’s features. With reluctance, he nods and gives into Reid’s request. “I understand. Keep safe and stick to the shadows,” he advises. “I wouldn’t want to confront Swansea all by myself.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips which remains even as he searches his pockets for cigarettes.

* * *

Once he reaches Elisabeth’s estate, the sky’s become the pale colour of grey with the only hints of colour being smudges and smears of rose and mauve. It’s a beautiful sight, but does nothing but fill Reid with an intense feeling of dread. Inside, Charlotte is reading and looks up.

“Hello, Dr. Reid!” The spark in her eyes fizzles out and her smile falters after a moment. “What did you get up to…?” She asks with small scoff. “Mother’s going to have questions.”

“Uh, yes. Charlotte, where is your mother?” He glances down at his bloodstained clothes. There is no way of distinguishing McCullum’s blood from Osbourne’s.

“She’s painting in her room, but she’s about to go to bed.” He thanks her before rising the stairs and walking to her bedroom door. There’s so much to explain. With timidness, he raps the door and waits until she opens the door. Upon seeing him, she sports a graceful smile. They haven’t seen much of each other in the past few month; whatever moments they can steal where they can be together are sparse but precious.

Then, she sees the blood. “Jonathan…,” she begins, her brows furrowing. She pinches a segment of his shirt and studies the stains before letting go “Did you catch him?”

“You should sit down.” She obeys and sits on the end of their bed, with her eyes wide with bewilderment. “We did find Freddy Osbourne. He attacked us and we had to resort to killing him.”

“Wait,” she interrupts with the wave of her hand, “‘we’? You’ve been working with McCullum again? You cannot be serious.” She runs a pale hand across her face while her lips remain agape. “He left you for dead, Jonathan! I understood why you didn’t want to kill him or seek revenge; it isn’t in your nature. Except… you run back to him. At this point, it isn’t compassion and understanding, it’s foolishness.” She stands up and walks to the armoire in their bedroom. He can tell that she does not wish to look at him. She’s too crossed to even look upon him.

“I’m sorry, Elisabeth.” He crosses the room and reaches for her hand. She glances over her shoulder and the fiery intensity in her eyes flickers until her gaze drops.

“I didn’t want to lose you, Jonathan,” she murmurs. “You can’t trust him. He’s the leader of the Guard. You will never be anything more than an abomination in his eyes, no matter how close you become. You might become friends, but he isn’t a man who abandons ideals.”

She’s right, Jonathan thinks to himself. He showed concern for his well-being and he put his trust into him. They’ve even come to consider each other as a strange pair of friends. And yet, the memory of betrayal continues to sting.

“I need to tell you something.” He holds onto her arms and forces her to turn around. “Freddy intended to come for you and Charlotte.”

Annoyance contorts her face and her soft features harden. “Well…” She struggles for words and clipped sounds emit from her. “I could have handled it. I’m no damsel in distress.”

“You would’ve handled it.” Reid doesn’t know why he was too worried about Freddy coming after her. He knows that Elisabeth is an ancient vampire - powerful, intelligent and swift. But, he supposes its his responsibility to worry after her and Charlotte. “But, we found a letter, signed by Swansea. He was paying for harvested organs. For your experiments.”

Quickly, she brushes past Reid. Once again, she turns her back to him and hugs herself as if she were folding into herself. “No… I was… I didn’t think… I had no idea.” There’s a moment of silence in which Jonathan inspects the fissures in the ceiling. He is almost afraid to reach out and touch her. What if he reached out to touch her and she just shattered?

“I know how you feel,” he murmurs and watches a pale sliver of her face appear from behind her slightly hunched shoulders. She gives him a look; one that dismisses the idea that he knows how it feels. Perhaps she’s right. After all, he isn’t the one who collaborated with Swansea. She believes she complicit in the crimes Swansea’s committed. He knows that there’s no use in trying to convince her. She’s a woman who believes what she wants. She’s as stubborn as Reid; both of them having resolves made of hard steel. “It won’t matter when we take care of him. Tomorrow, McCullum and I are going to stop him.”

“How do you plan on doing that?’ By now, she’s looking at Jonathan while she leans against the armoire, her spindly arms crossed over her chest.

“We haven’t come up with a plan. But, we’ll leave an anonymous tip at a police station - the bill. I doubt they’ll do anything except for a lazy and half-hearted visit. We’ll still try to stop him from possibly leaving London.”

“Jonathan… After this, we’ll have to leave London. You know that, right? There will be no more reason for us to stay here. I don’t want to leave Charlotte again, but, that’s how it’ll be.” She looks down, but Reid can see her sclera turning pink. She’s a strong woman, not prone to emotion. But, even the thought of leaving Charlotte leaves her eyes shiny and red-tinted.

“We can stay for a little while.” He doesn’t think he’s ready to leave just yet. It feels as though he’s just returned home. He’s hardly had time to enjoy London’s autumn and its transition into winter. But, the seasons are weak reasons for staying somewhere; he knows he’ll miss his friendship with McCullum, as strange as it is.

Instead of replying, she looks at him. “I’m coming with you when you go see Edgar.”

“No, Elisabeth. It’s risky…” While he attempts to conjure up a proper reason for leaving her behind, he looks at her arched eyebrows and frown. “Alright. Well, prepare yourself, then. Get some rest, we go at dusk.”


End file.
